Estelio Ammen
by Whyte Ivy
Summary: Trust in Us. The harmony of Lorien is breaking. Reviewed as Intriguing, Original and beautifully written, read the legend of a proud elleth and prejudice March Warden. UPDATE:2006! yes new Chapter Up by the end of June!
1. Prologue: Exile

Author's Welcome: Hello and thankyou so much for taking time to read my fan fiction, hopefully you will enjoy it. Basically this story of mine is a work constantly in progress and due to my hectic life (yes I actually do have one) it may take two – three and *gasp* even four weeks for me update, but be assured that when I do you won't be let down! 

**Rating:** I will warn you that this will deal with prejudice, rape, sex, grief, love and you read at your own risk. If you don't want to read this, I politely ask you to leave. = exit's that way… ………..right you're still here, then I hope you enjoy your journey.

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises and many characters are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me, I have no money!

**-**-------------------

I have never seen the Prince look so formidable as he does now, his thin lips tight, lithe body tense and ice blue eyes stern. He towers above me in regal blue and silver, as I kneel, wretchedly, on the floor begging for my life. He is my last shred of hope in what has been a nightmare. I sense that behind this rigid and battle worn exterior there is compassion and pity, emotions rarely displayed on the features of our ruler, but nevertheless found if one sees beyond his title. Will he find mercy for an edhel accused of killing his own advisor and comrade? Or will pain and revenge rob him of seeing the truth?

On the cool marble tiles I look like something that was once fine now broken and only glimpses of what was once beautiful can be seen in the shattered pieces. Dark auburn hair in a chaos of rat tails and matted knots, a plain underdress torn, frayed and with traces of blood and grime smeared across it – all that is left of an attractive garment, bare feet bearing cuts and dirt tarnishing skin and under fingernails. I have barely enough strength to defy anyone; but my innocence is what I have to defend at all costs, even to my last breath.

"I swear upon the Star of Ëarendil, I am no spy nor did I ever commit treason against you, my Lord," I plead, my voice wavering as the power to endure ebbs to dangerous levels. 

Anger briefly flares upon his grim features. He leans down close to my tear streaked face, his voice deadly cold.

"One of my Captains and closest of friends died because of your treachery. Shall I read you the crimes of which you deny involvement when I have proof that condemns you and nothing except your word against it?"

My heart screams. _I would rather die than confess to a wrong that is not my own. _

"I _will_ retain my innocence, my Lord, for guilty, I – am – not!"

The Chamber becomes silent, not a whisper of breath or rustle of cloth can be heard from the attended, and those who would judge me for something I had never done. A long shallow gash on my leg begins to throb and I notice for the first time that my body is shaking, signs of shock and fatigue. I have no one to appeal my case, no ally to defend me against these charges, which are placed upon me because of betrayal. My hands are tied; one mention of those who were the perpetrators and my family will die. There is nothing I can do to save myself and, unconsciously, I clench my hand into a fist. I made a choice to protect my family – one life so that five more can live, but I had promised myself to die with innocence still being proclaimed from my lips. That is all I want in return. 

A valiant man my realm loves is dead and all signs point to me. Friends turn away, family disown, no one willing to see the truth through my eyes, and for this I am going to die.

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      * 

Câlavendë (Pr: cah-la-vun-day) awoke from her dream/memory. She had relived that past in dreams for just over five years of men and as other thoughts of her life before exile became dim the memory of her trial became clearer, haunting her rest. She did not know where she was going; her guide, Shaneth, had long since died protecting her.

"I go where the Wind leads," she whispered.

A swift breeze caught at her cloak, she imagined it pushing her onwards, down a road that never ended. Câlavendë's feet turned North at the winds command.

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      * 

 The guardians watched the stranger enter their lands, aware of every movement it made. They waited as hawks did their prey, searching for weakness, defence and any trace of what it might be.

 Câlavendë seemed oblivious to the eyes that peered mistrustfully from the talans and tree highways above her. Coated in a full length, coarse travellers cloak that had been mended far too many times, with the hood pulled far over her head shadowing her features, it proved impossible for the watchers to see the face of the stranger, no matter the angle or their keen eyesight. 

"Edhel?" [Elf]

"Ai." [yes]

It could only be an elf; the fluid grace that the Eldar walked the earth with was a distinguishable attribute among their kind. She walked with a staff like weapon, sharp on the tip and blunted, even care worn, on the other. It was engraved with vines and leaves and one white gem gleamed from the middle. Finely carved and inlaid with a lighter wood, it was clearly wrought with much love. Câlavendë would swing the staff no more than a finger span from the ground and then step forward so that it became a strategic and carefully balanced dance. Other than the staff there was no other open show of defence, she almost looked like a wanderer who had strayed from the path and kept walking expecting to come upon the path once again, only wanderers – whether they intentionally or accidentally walk into the Lady of the Golden Wood's Realm – are all waylaid until they can be called friend or foe.

'Surround her,' came a hand signalled order.

In but a moment six elves had positioned themselves around Câlavendë and converged stealthily upon her. She still walked unheedingly through the lush undergrowth of fern, orchid and moss. From above bows were taut and arrows trained on her form. When the ground elves were ten paces from her, she suddenly stopped and all could hear her clear voice. 

"Hail Galadhrim of Lothlorien the Fair."

If they were surprised by her sudden confirmation of their existence, and they were, as not many could discern their presence, they did not express it openly. Instead they encircled her plainly with all bows bent hard. A tall, silver haired elf with eyes the colour of a storm tossed sea and an air of arrogance and pride, stepped forward to stand in front of her, his own bow carried in his hand, a sign of peace in the midst of so much weaponry.

"Hail, stranger, you have entered the borders of our realm. You can go no further."

Câlavendë almost smiled.

"If you would step out of my way I could go much further, sir."

I wonder how far I can push them? she thought and stepped forward. The elf in front of her did not move at all. 

"I am afraid, lady, that I cannot. Tell me who you are?"

"I am whatever you wish me to be. Ithilwen, Anoriel, Silyáedwen, Vinyaorëiel … pick one." 

"I pray thee speak plainly, your name?"

 "What is in a name? Niphredil by any other name would still smell as sweet," Câlavendë countered.

Haldir knew he must end this elusive word game.

"I asked for a name, not a riddle. I am Haldir, March Warden of Lorien. Duty and etiquette requires you return the favour."

"Would you like to hear the truth or a very good lie?" 

Amazed at her audacity to continually avert from answering the question there was silence. Sighing, she knew that she had no other option.

"My name is Câlavendë Sûliell, I am – was – the seamstress for the royal Household of Dol Amroth. Of no high birth am I, I have no unique talent with bow or blade, I am but a maiden with duty, honour and above all life," she added almost in defiance that they should say otherwise. Wearily, "Do not waylay this traveller, Master Haldir, she only longs to follow the path at the Winds command."

Her words were strange, the meaning shrouded behind mystery. Haldir was curious as to why one edhel alone would travel the wild with the wind, far from Dol Amroth by the sea. 

"Remove thy hood." A command.

Câlavendë stirred restlessly, her hand gripping the staff tighter.

"I warn you against my hood's removal," she murmured.

"It is custom in our Realm to look upon the face of strangers." He added in afterthought, "There is nothing that we would deem horrid."

_Perhaps she has a scar? _His contempt arose at her vanity. Many had died from head wounds in battle and she was worried about a scar?

"And yet, custom or no, I still wish my hood to remain as it is. You know not what you ask of me!"

"What I ask is simple and I am running out of patience, either you do it yourself or one of us will do it for you, but either way we _shall_ see your face," his words belied how truly frustrated he was with Câlavendë, not used to encountering someone who would not do what he requested of them.

There was a deep sigh of regret and sorrow as her pale, slender hand reached up to pull it back. The hood fell away revealing curls of auburn, swept up haphazardly, with loose tendrils fanning around her face, a petite nose with high cheekbones and a pale complexion that was accented by small pink lips. Her eyes were the most intriguing, one a deep blue, and the other a vivid green. There was nothing in this face that warranted a warning and although it was not strikingly attractive it was comely in a wind tossed way. 

"There is nothing here worthy of hiding," humoured Rúmil, trying to lighten the situation.

Her eyes still held Haldir's and their directness unnerved him; usually no one could withstand his gaze that some said froze the blood. 

The wind, the same wind that had blown her into these lands, rippled the canopy and one golden mallorn leaf fell lightly down towards the ground. It came within a hairsbreadth from her eyes and still they did not blink or waver from Haldir's form. A hand deftly caught the mallorn leaf before it touched the ground.

"Ar'cened im [I am sightless], March Warden." 

If the wardens had not been trained so well in discipline all would have taken a step back, only great strength of will kept them in their places so close to Câlavendë. Their eyes widened in distaste. In all elves healing was quick and none suffered from afflictions for long unless the hurt was that of the spirit. Death only occurred by blade or a broken heart. Haldir himself had received life threatening wounds in battle, but when treated had recovered in time. It was unnatural for a Firstborn to suffer from blindness, hence the reason the wardens wanted to step away. It seemed almost a curse from the Valar. Elves, the creators of everything beautiful and delicate in the world, had an innate dislike for anything that was once beautiful deformed or misshapen. Câlavendë knew this, she had feared it and had dealt with the consequences far to many times even with non-elves, and pulled her hood back over her features.

Suddenly Haldir understood the weapon, the strategic walk, and the hood. All were to help her survive. He felt no compassion for her, his own dislike for misshapen beings ran deep and they seemed a stain on the beautiful world of Lothlorien the Golden. A realm perfect and tranquil, Câlavendë would not be a happily welcomed guest. 

"I warned you, u' lasto." (You didn't listen)

Haldir's gaze flickered back to her shadowed face, insulted.

"Oh I listened, but perhaps you should wear a sign about your neck, 'Blind Edhel Beware'," and waved the mallorn leaf he had caught in front of her sightless face, almost gloating when he saw her head bow. The taunt was like many she had heard before, but never from an elf, her own kin, and rash words followed.

"I may be blind, _Master Haldir_, but I have compassion, civility and love which more than makes up for the loss – emotions you know nothing of. You are a discourteous, foolish Warden with ample pride, arrogance," she paused and snatched the mallorn leaf from his hand, "and poor reflexes." 

He seemed unconcerned by her display, already classifing her as one beneath him, instead he inspected his company and, for the time, ignored Câlavendë, speaking directly to those under his command.

"Three will head South, escorting Miss Sûliell out of our lands with a warning never to return. If she disobeys you have the right to forcefully imprison her on sight. Dorviel, Malachon, Rúmil, you shall send her on her way. Make sure she has food and water, only enough of what we can spare. We would not like to be known as compassionless hosts."

The sarcasm was so thick she expected him to snigger.

"Shouldn't we bring her to – ", Dorviel began.

"No," he was cut off by Haldir. "The Lady has assented to this course of action."

All who new Haldir well enough, which in the Company was only his brother's Rúmil and Orophin, could tell Haldir was lying, an event rarely witnessed by anyone. A tightening of the jaw and a tap of his left index finger were the only noticeable, but restrained signs. For Câlavendë to have elicited a lie from the March Warden she must have offended or infuriated him greatly.

Câlavendë paled when she heard that even the Lady of the Golden Wood would not have her near.

"Do I have any say in this matter?"

She swore she could hear his head turn in her direction, the contempt in his voice dripping off every word he uttered.

"Does the accused have any say in the verdict?"

The sword stuck home even if Haldir did not realise.

"I see," Câlavendë whispered.

"Now that would be hard to believe."

Foolishly Orophin's wit put him in mortal danger. Deep anger, that had built inside her since being detained, boiled over and her staff tip came up to gently graze Orophin's neck in what seemed a lightning quick gesture. 

"Insult me again and by the Valar your blood will stain this earth." 

A tense moment passed and it seemed that everyone froze waiting until someone made the first move. 

The deciding stroke fell. Câlavendë felt a cold, sharp blade touch her own neck. 

"Release him." A command.

Câlavendë's staff tip slowly withdrew from Orophin's neck much to the latter's relief. 

"Disarm her."

The staff was taken from her hand which fell softly to her side, a hidden dagger also removed from her waist and still the knife tip was at her neck.

"Bind her hands."

The wardens found no resistance as they bound her, preferring to touch her with gloved hands than skin to skin, afraid the malady would pass onto them. Haldir stepped so close to Câlavendë that the heat from his powerful build coupled with his grim voice intimidated her so much she had to mentally restrain herself from stepping back. 

"I will take my leave of you now, _elleth_, [elf-girl] your time here has ended and I can say in perfect honesty I could not be happier to see you out of my sight, misshapen as you are. I insist on never laying eyes on you again or it shall be _your_ blood staining this earth, understand?" 

He received a small nod and withdrew his silver dagger from her throat, a drop of her blood staining the keen edge. Haldir signalled them to escort her away and watched long after they had disappeared between the trees, his mind in turmoil.

The mallorn leaf Câlavendë had let drop from her hand as she left floated slowly down and landed a moment later on the place she had stood. One bloom of Niphredil beside it.  

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**NOTES**: So what do you think??? You have read the first chapter and I sincerely hope you keep returning to read the continuation of this S.I.P.(story-in-progress). See the little lilac button – it's calling you to review!! Please help me write better!!

_Câlavendë = _ Light…   _Sûliell _= Daughter of Wind  


	2. Truth and kindness

Author's Note: Thankyou to my reviewers, you make writing this story worthwhile! I have to say that you make me smile soooo much (and sometimes jump around my house J ) and no matter how long or short your review, you are all very special and I thankyou for taking the time to do this for me. 

**Thankyou ---- Sarah **(I hope you keep reading too!!), **Lex **(thanks for the encouragement)**, Sokochan **(thanks, yeah Haldir is a bit of a jerk isn't he!!), **Bellasinn **(intrigued is good!! –lovely name btw!), **Jfrog** (it's definitely oroginal – ever heard of a blind elf?Thankyou!) and M**aja** (my beautiful first reviewer – thanks for your support – please keep R'nRing) ---- **I love you all, muchos besos and good luck.**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises and many characters are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me, I have no money!

**DEDICATION: TO ALL MY WONDERFUL REVIEWERS – GERICH VELETH NIN!!!**

**-**---------------

Haldir motioned the rest of his company to melt back into the undergrowth and to their outposts, even though he himself stood, arms folded over his chest, in the clearing unmoving. A strong silver tree unbending in ways more than physical. No matter how hard he seemed to try he could not shake the image of those sightless eyes staring at him with a keenness that it made his skin crawl. And how she spoke to him, the venom and passion in her words made it clear she felt every word she said. Was he truly compassionless and without love? Haldir shook his head, clearing his thoughts, she had simply unnerved and disgusted him that is all. As one hand clasped the first rung of the ladder that ascended into the canopy he felt a familiar presence in his mind and sighed slowly. 

Haldir, Haldir, what have you done? 

The Lady Galadriel often communicated to her March Warden in this way when he was far from Caras Galadhon, letting Haldir know whether to permit, detain or turn away strangers who entered her realm. In all the time though in his position, one he had held for hundreds of years of men, he had never heard her so saddened and he could guess its cause. Knowing the Lady disapproved of his actions hurt his pride and turned his heart even further against Câlavendë, more than anything she had said or done. Câlavendë had turned the Lady against him, or so he thought. Like a petulant child refusing to admit his actions had been the source of his parents anger, so Haldir tried to justify his actions which brought upon him Galadriel's irritation.

Haldir, it was you who made this decision, at no word from me. Why, March Warden? What made you not wait for my command? 

He tried to reason, that she had defied him and also used her staff against one of his company, his own brother no less. Why shouldn't he send her away?! 

_You were sending her away long before she raised arms against you._

There was no denying this, and a small feeling that could have been guilt arose in his mind. Chastised, he became subservient again. What would you have me do?

Bring her back Haldir, bring her to me… 

Haldir knew she didn't add, _as you would have done_. A swift bird like whistle was all he needed to bring his company back to him. He was about to allocate roles of retrieval when a small shift in consciousness, that could have been a sly smile, entered his mind.

_And Haldir, bring her back yourself._

Ahh yes, the Lady was unique and cunning in many ways. He sighed and quickly explained the course to his company ignoring the grin that Orophin was sporting; he knew of Galadriel's reproof, no one else could have made Haldir order his company to help bring Câlavendë back, and couldn't help rubbing it in to his "Pride of Lothlorien" older brother.

                        *                      *                      *                      *                      *                      *

Câlavendë tried not to cry, tried not to let one tear of despair slide out of her sightless eyes, but it was no use. Their treatment had brought back her memories of all the times she had been turned away, spat on, jeered at and generally despised by all those she met. It seemed as though no one was willing to see beyond her blindness, that by being sightless she was seen as somehow evil and unable to be intelligent or independent, both of which she was more than capable of proving them wrong. 

She had come to rely, perhaps a little to heavily, on her staff as both weapon and guide. Without it, she felt lost and disorientated in her perpetual night. The strategic walk that Haldir noted was literally in itself a strategy to see. The staff's smooth, clubbed end was swung diagonally from her right hip on a slight angle to the left no more than a finger span from the ground and then she would take a step forward whilst it swung back. Using the staff this way was like a quick feeling of the ground and terrain. Luckily because of her elvish blood she could feel the presence of living things, especially that of flora and fauna, so bumping into trees and branches had never really been a problem. Just trying to picture things she felt and orientate them so that they made sense and built up a carefully layered 'idea' only of her surroundings was what she found hard. Only Shaneth had asked her how she saw the world…

~~~~~~

The fire crackles, its warm heat bathing my face in light; warm red, orange and golden light that I will never see again. Already the colours, the shapes are disappearing and the blackness seems to cloud the mind, like the feeling of being watched by a Nazgul put into shades and draped across your vision. I start when a large hand touches mine where it rests in my lap.

"H-h-how do you see?" Shaneth asks with his soft, musical voice; the voice of a bard.

"See Shaneth? I don't, not anymore."

He shifts closer and I hear the gravel move underneath him.

"No, No. L-l-look h-h-harder. See with the s-s-s," I can hear him take a breath and struggle with the word, "-soul."

I don't exactly know what he means, seeing with your soul, but I try, I try for him, a man I can truly call a friend. An outcast because of a deformity that causes him to be small as that of a child on one side of his body and not on the other, he is terribly shy, hence the stuttering. Yet Shaneth has a heart of gold and a voice to match even that of the Master singer himself, Daeron. Whilst Shaneth sings, he does not stutter or stumble and stands with a proud bearing resemblant of the highest bard in the royal court. He befriended me as I shivered in the gutters of Dol Amroth and nursed me back to health, training me with use of the staff and singing to me when the darkness and grief held me in their thrall. Now he is asking me to see with my soul, how can I deny him?

I reach into my soul, into my being where '_I_'is an entity and with all my senses tried "seeing." I focus hard and eventually I "see", with my other senses of hearing, smell, touch and instinctive edhel skills, an extremely faint outline of trees and the moving outline of the fire, nothing more. 

"All I see/feel is shadows of the world Shaneth, nothing more." I sigh wearily, my vigour gone, and pat his hand soothingly.

"That is g-g-good. It is e-e-enough f-f-for now."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Câlavendë never saw more than those outlines and it took so much concentration, so much energy, to see them, that sometimes she did not bother, totally relying on her ability to "feel" the living. Today though, without the aid of her staff, she stumbled over every tree root, every rut in the ground, every slippery, lichen covered stone. Two silent tears slid down her face at the thought of this humiliation – an edhel was above all things light of foot and here she was blundering over the earth like a drunken human. Though the ropes on her wrists were not tight they encumbered and slightly overbalanced and with no one was guiding her where to go, she felt she was truly walking alone. For the fifth time she stumbled badly and almost fell, I tiny cry coming from her lips.

The cry did not go unheard. Rúmil, who trailed closely behind carrying her staff, had watched her faltering progress with a growing sense of pity and concern. His heart was always that of kindness and sometimes, even though he was loath to admit it, he despised killing and would give a quick death not prolong the agony of passing like some did. It was almost too much for his soft heart to bear watching an elleth tied and stumbling when he had seen her not long before with a grace that rivalled many he knew. The blindness kept him in check, a curse of the Valar upon her he supposed, but when he heard that one little cry after not hearing a sound from her since they left his brother, his heart broke and no matter the Valar's curse he could not go past someone in need.

With a swift clean flick of his blade he cut her bonds, which fell unheedingly to the forest floor. Touching her elbow, he gently made his arm so that she could both lean on him and follow where he led.

"My lady."

 The surprise Câlavendë felt was so much that she was at a loss for words. The sudden freedom and edhel contact was nothing like what she expected. In her mind she had put all the Lorien elves into the category of arrogant and heartless, then this one act of kindness turned her judgement on its head. Was it some sort of trick, a joke, were they laughing at her? 

"Are you not disgusted by my horrendous, misshapen form?" She spoke softly with a world of bitterness.

"Disgusted, no. – watch your step here – perhaps 'afraid of' is the better terminology."

Dorviel and Malachon shared amazed glances, but did not interfere.

"Why?" The one word she uttered could have been asked about a lot of things, why his help, why was she being treated so, but he decided to interpret it as 'Why be afraid'.

"Because – careful – anyone cursed by the Valar must have angered them – there is a log here, step over it, that's it –greatly to receive such a punishment and…"

So they think I am cursed, if only it was that simple… 

~~~~~~

"I _will_ retain my innocence, my Lord, for guilty, I – am – not!"

The Chamber becomes silent, not a whisper of breath or rustle of cloth can be heard from the attended, and those who would judge me for something I had never done. A long shallow gash on my leg begins to throb and I notice for the first time that my body is shaking, signs of shock and fatigue.

Prince Imrahil's boots clip the smooth marbled floor as he makes his way towards the dais, then sits brooding upon the mithril and mother-of-pearl adorned throne. 

"Is there anyone who will speak for her? She stands convicted of kin-slaying, treason and spy-craft, the first of which is enough to seal her own death. Will anyone speak?"

I lift my head and implore without sound those who surround me to help, anyone, but their eyes are cold and hard. Judgemental. I can almost see their thoughts, how they must think I am greedy, sly, cunning and already disowned I am nought, but a beggar. I have no favours to be reclaimed, no debts to be repaid, nothing. The silence stretches on and I can feel my hope slipping through my fingers.

Then a voice, a thickly accented child's voice, sounds from out of nowhere and an uneducated and slightly scruffy human child pushes her way through the crowd and out into the open.

"I will, I will speak for Câla."

It couldn't be.

"Who may you be little mistress?" the surprise in his voice clearly audible.

"Johanna, dawter of Hannos, your 'ighness."

"And how many winters have you seen?"

" 'leven winters, your 'ighness."

"Do you know what this trial is about Johanna, daughter of Hannos?"

"Aye, my lord, I do."

He strokes his chin thoughtfully.

"Then speak."

I shake my head in amazement and regret; she is standing up for someone who has shown kindness, but never been a friend, not knowing that by doing so she is in mortal danger.

"Câla has 'elp'd most of me friends and me keep warm and 'appy in the cold. She takes time to make clothes that don't itch, and fit us and patches up and cleans our old ones. She reads to us sometimes too, 'av ye ever 'eard the story of the Wild Swans, sir? No one tells it like Câla! I 'aven't 'eard 'er raise 'er voice or 'urt _anyone_ and I 'av known 'er since I was a wee girl. The most dangerous thing she 'as is a needle for sowin' and not once 'as she prick'd me, though she 'as done it to her thumb so many times. I know Câla, she wouldn't 'urt a firefly. She is the nicest person I know and I am sure she didn't do anythin' bad.  You didn't did you, Câla?!" She turns her dear, sweet, innocent face to me and I feel a tear on my cheek and wipe it quickly away.

"No dearest, no I didn't."

"See I told yer and she promis'd she wouldn't ever lie to me. Not since Ledholin said 'ee was taller and I knew that 'ee wasn't because 'ee 'ad put mud in 'is shoes to be taller, she promis'd never to lie like Ledholin."

Murmurs reverberate through the Assembly, wondering about the child that wipes her nose on her sleeve and stares defiantly up at the Prince. There is a hush that sweeps over them when his highness, glides forward, kneels in front of Johanna and tilts her chin so that he can stare clearly in to her eyes. He searches them for a time before standing straight again and laying a protective hand on her thin shoulder. This was the compassionate Prince I had seen as a seamstress.

"Thankyou, Johanna daughter of Hannos, you may go now," his voice soft and fatherly, but Johanna catches the hem of one of his silver sleaves and clasps it between her cold, clammy, tiny hands, eyes as round and wide as saucers.

"But Câla, Câla will be alright won't she," and I watch her bottom lip tremble slightly, a sight that tears at my heart as she is always so adamant about never crying, never showing weakness. 

The Prince drops his voice to a low whisper so that none of the court can hear and I strain to catch it.

"Perhaps, little one, perhaps. Go home and may health and happiness find you."

Johanna steps back, releasing her hold on his garment and makes what could be seen as a curtsy.

"Thank-ye sir, but I don't 'av a 'ome."

I watch her retreating back as she makes for the doors, the crowd parting before her and closing in again once she passed. Was there hope for me after all?

"There was nought but truth in the child, known as Johanna daughter of Hannos, and we must take this into consideration. I cannot with such an affirmation of good will as this, in my conscience, commit such a person to death. Pure evil only deserves death."

I hang my head and cover my mouth with my hand in shock and thankfulness. Thank the Valar, thank Yvanna, thank the powers of this world. Life has been given to me.

There is a movement out of the corner of my eye and I watch as _he_ steps forward, my stomach lurching painfully with frightening certainty that _he_ will bring about my doom.

"How do we know she hasn't paid the urchin to say this? You cannot let this wretch go unpunished because of one vermin's outburst about humanity. Irrefutable signs point to her, she was found with blood splatter on her dress, the weapon of kin-slaying was the very one made for her by your highness," _yes, the one you stole and betrayed me with_! "So you will not order death, but will you let the murderer of your best friend, your trusted comrade who saved your life on the battlefields and brother of your wife, go free of penalty?"

I feel the torch ignite on my funeral pyre. The hope I hold vanishes, how can Imrahil _not_ listen to this counsel?

"Still with doubt in my mind I can not order death, but I agree with your sentiment, what do you propose?"

A whispered suggestion passes and I see a flashing pity well in my lord's blue eyes as his gaze turns to me.

"Very well, but maybe it will be worse than death. Do you, People of the Assembly, agree to exile and sightlessness for all eternity as punishment for Câlavendë Sûliell? Cast you judgement."

I watch as people, lords and ladies, people I have worked for, people I know, cast either a black stone for no or white stone for yes into a great earthenware jar. There briskly steps the lady who has five blue dresses all in different hues, but with the same embroidered leaf motif on the hem. There is the lord who wants only pearl buttons on his white shirts. There goes the couple whose wedding garments has shone with golden thread. There is the maiden who adores burgundy velvet; the lord who hates orange. All are deciding my fate.

I can not bear to watch as the stones are counted in front of everyone, before half the jar is done the overwhelming odds are in favour of yes and by the end only seven and forty people in the entire Assembly have voted no.

"It is decided," my lord proclaims and the sceptre he holds slams down on the marble floor three times in finality.

Boom. Yes.

Boom. Exile.

Boom. Sightlessness.

Prince Imrahil strides purposefully towards me, and I can tell there will be no pleading, no begging, no mercy. I only have one last request of him.

"My liege lord and ruler, I beg of you if it is so to be my fate, for my last sight to be that of my choosing."

"As you wish." Do I hear his voice waver?

"From the balcony then, towards the sea, my lord, then, do as you must." I am surprised to find a strange kind of peace envelope my soul and I feel myself rise without faltering and step tentatively towards the edge where I can see out across the city to the sun shining on the water. 

I feel his sword hand gently resting upon my head as I see a Grey Ship leave the Port, wind full in it's sails, and two gulls swooping around, joyfully heralding the evening. As my vision begins to blacken around the edges I watch the gulls until they are all that I can see and then they too disappear and I am lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Câlavendë did not hear of Johanna, daughter of Hannos again. She thought it best not to tell Rúmil of his error; a curse was much easier to explain than betrayal, blindness and exile.

"…and anyone who used a staff like that without sight deserves to be wary of! What else might you do, spring wings and fly?" 

She was surprised to find a small smile forming on her lips.

"Alas no, my lord, for sadly I'm allergic to feathers," she commented mischievously. Would he see the joke?

"What a pity then, I was hoping for a demonstration before you left. Oh well, at least you have provided some entertainment from the dullness of slaying marauding orcs. – Oo watch that! Sorry, _that_ was a hole -. The stunt you pulled on my brother had him shaking in his shiny leather boots." Rúmil was enjoying his conversation surprisingly forgetting he was talking to one supposedly cursed and banished from the Golden Wood. Câlavendë gasped.

"Your brother, my lord?"

"Oh don't my lord me, just Rúmil will be fine. And yes that was Orophin, older and less handsome than me, but younger and more reckless with maidens than Haldir."

She choked back a moan. 

"I threatened the March Warden's brother?"

"Yes, and a good choice it was. I wouldn't have minded if you had kept him there a little longer, while he was thus distracted it would have given me time to tell him he still owed me two perfectly balanced knives and if he didn't promise to bring me them by tomorrow I would give you my full permission to mar his perfectly flawless neck."

Dorviel and Malachon chuckled slightly at the eccentricity of their younger companion.

"We are here and I think you, Master Rúmil, will kindly obey orders."

Câlavendë felt Rúmil stiffen slightly and withdraw his arm, though she was again surprised when he squeezed her hand with one of his gloved ones in reassurance.

Her staff and dagger were given back, perhaps a little cautiously and some rations were stashed in the pouch held at her belt. She wouldn't allow Rúmil to give her more than she knew he was ordered to. 

"Walk into the wind to head south, and may you find peace in fairer places Lady Câlavendë."

"May the wind carry you good fortune Master Rúmil." She wished with all her heart all people could be like Rúmil, or at least have some of the goodness and decency she felt radiating from him like a golden sun.

Turning to face towards the wind – something she had never done, travelling against the wind –  when a sarcastic and arrogant voice, the very sound which she hated with more loathing than she thought could be possible in an anyone. 

"I was hoping we would never meet again, but it seems you are hard to be rid of, elleth."

"Nice to meet you so soon again, March Warden. Come to see I obey your decree? Well you do not need to be in fear of non-compliance, I was just taking my leave."

"Believe in me the pleasure of your acquaintance was never to be felt again, and the timing being so close together not out of added desire to add to the memory's poignancy," Câlavendë gritted her teeth at his tone. "_But_ it seems we both have to endure the other for a little longer. You are required at Caras Galadhon, by order of the Lady Galadriel."

Nothing else could have shocked her more.

-----------------------------

**NOTES**: So this is the second chapter. A little bit more info, I guess, and I hope still enjoyable. What do you think so far? I have many twists in the plot to come so beware!! See the little lilac button – it's calling you to review!! Please help me to write faster and better by REVIEWING!!


	3. Brainless Brothers

Author's Note: Please forgive the lateness in which this chapter has been posted, but I actually (surprise, surprise) do have a life other than writing this fan fiction piece. I have been holidaying, studying and working many shifts waitressing so haven't been able to update as quickly as I should have. Not to mention I cracked the screen of my laptop – a costly $1,175 mistake, which I am paying off slowly. Hopefully reading this next chapter will make amends for my absence. 

**The Thankyou's have been added to the end of the chapter…**

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings companies that are currently under copyright with Tolkien Enterprises and NewLine Cinema and many characters/places are taken for non-profit use only from J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me, I have no money!

**Dedication:** To Nienna Nir – whose support and story has made me smile so much. 

****** I sincerely recommend you all to read "A Tangled Web" – it is truly a masterpiece of humour, love and hope entwined – especially since there are so many love triangles happening. One of my favourite parts of the entire story is Haldir tounge-tied. Characters include; **_Haldir_** and co., Legolas, Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond and co., Aragorn, Arwen, Galadreil and Celeborn – plus some incredibly lifelike elleth's out to snag themselves the perfect elf. [Watch for Indelin])****** 

**Also** Lady of Dragons who with only a few words gave me so much confidence in myself as a writer – you are both truly an inspiration and I cannot fully describe how wonderfully appreciated, respected and beautiful you are to me. 

**P.S. **If you are bored waiting for the next chapter to arrive try reading my other short story called "Of Silver Roses" – it is set in Rohan and if you are liking Estelio Ammen, I'm pretty sure you might like it as well. It is COMPLETE.

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The news was slow to be comprehended. Lady. Order. Caras Galadhon. _Me?_ Câlavendë wasn't sure if they were serious after all they had only just told her she was never to be allowed back into Lothlorien. Her pale hands ran over the careworn surface of her staff, trying to find something to say. 

At last, bewildered, she murmured, "I do not understand."

Haldir frowned, _now why doesn't that surprise me_, and couldn't help the feeling of unwanted duty creep into his voice.

"We are to escort you as a guest to Caras Galadhon, elleth.[Elf-girl] Come this way."

He made to depart gesturing to his companions who had already formed into groups to stay on the borders, whilst he and his brothers took Câlavendë to the Lady. He was already walking back towards the heart of Lothlorien when he looked over his shoulder to see Câlavendë still standing on the spot he had first seen her. She spoke one word and he ground his teeth in irritation. 

"If you will follow…,"he paused, the word only now causing him to start, "I beg your pardon?"

"Are you hard of hearing March Warden, I said - No."

"No to what? My presence? That can not be avoided," he thought about Galadriel's words and added stiffly, "much as I wish it were otherwise. No to being escorted? Well, you can hardly find the way yourself in your state. No to journey as a guest? I would have thought you would prefer guest than prisoner, but if you are that way inclined, I would be delighted to make the arrangements."

Câlavendë could almost feel the rope again on her wrists, causing her to be unbalanced and graceless, something she would never admit humiliated her, and the cruel chuckle or merciless laugh of Haldir. 

"No, I will not go to Caras Galadhon."

She could feel his anger rising. 

First she avoids my questions, then threatens my brother and finally refuses to be escorted. She is insufferable! 

"You are increasingly a bane of existence," frustrated beyond belief he threw up his hands and paced – two steps left, two steps right.

"Now now, we are not here to trade insults, but be childlike if you wish."

"Stop being so damn insolent and obey me." He retorted, stopping in front of her and for a moment seeing her as a younger, disobedient Warden.

"Obey, you? I would rather walk openly in to Mordor and knock on the Black Gate itself. Now if you would ask me in a more civil manner, may I remind you I am no longer your prisoner March Warden but a guest, I may be obliged to consider your request."

"It was not a request…," he murmured through gritted teeth, but Câlavendë seemed unconcerned. She was actually enjoying herself.

"I am waiting March Warden."

Haldir took a deep breath, resumed his rigid and passive exterior, and continued with grudging civility, which could be seen as a mockery of graciousness.

"It would _please_ me if you would _accompany_ us to Caras Galadhon, elle…," he cut himself short, "_Miss Súliell_."

She knew she infuriated him more by pretending to think.

"Hennaid [Thank-you] March Warden, but I must respectfully decline for I fear your presence is near suffocating, and whilst my company may be pleasurable, the feeling is not reciprocated."

Rúmil and Orophin took one look at their brother and knew that she was pushing him too far. They were moments away from witnessing a swift murder. Haldir's anger was something anyone that knew him was determined not to awaken. Cold, and often a master at rendering the other a blubbering mess by no other means than stepping forward and staring hard at them with his deadly keen eyes, he was one of the most fearful opponents if ever a dispute arose, and that was even before given a weapon. Orophin put a restraining hand on Haldir's shoulder, telling him without words to hold his anger in check whilst Rúmil spoke swiftly to Câlavendë.

"Miss Câlavendë, please, you are doing yourself no service by angering him."

She sighed, realising she had sunk so low as to toy with the March Warden. It was the Lady of the Golden Woods who wanted to speak with her and if that meant a long walk in uncomfortable company, then so be it. 

"Master Haldir, I reconsider your offer and I would be most honoured to accept your invitation to be escorted as a guest to Caras Galadhon."

The tension eased noticeably and Haldir was able to compose himself so that he was less animated, more distant and unfeeling. In truth he became his title, the March Warden. Câlavendë could feel the other elves, who had stayed in earshot in their small watch groups to hear the argument, move into the surrounding trees and back to their talan's on the fences, the borderlands of Lothlorien. Clothed in the weave of Lorien they appeared grey when closely observed, but could blend into any environment they found themselves in. Rippling green of the canopy, dark shadows and browns of the dense forest floor, mirroring both the day and the cobalt and silver darkness of night. They could not be seen or heard such was their craft in woodland lore in addition to their elvish athleticism and instinctive gifts. Three indistinct bird calls later Câlavendë could no longer feel their presence.

"Come…", Haldir said, noting sadly the lengthening shadows and how one misfortunate meeting in the early evening could mean one night and a long walk spent in unfortunate company. The wind was still to the south, the same wind she entered the woods on and perhaps, Haldir mused, she would leave when the wind changed. He could only hope.

Câlavendë, now with her staff safe in her hands, could easily walk behind Haldir with Orophin and Rúmil on either side of her. The grace in which she had first appeared returned and with the hood still shadowing her face, one could almost believe her to be an Eldar of great importance. Haldir set a pace that was punishing, but Câlavendë had no trouble keeping up, though her mind was far from walking under leaf and bow.

 ~~~~~~

"Your staff, Ca…Ca-Câla."

Shaneth hands me something wrapped in an old bolt of ripped cloth and I smile to where I know he is sitting. We are in front of the little fire that snaps angrily at its rusted grate in the tiny house of wood, that lets cold winds in through unseen cracks and boasts a dirt floor worn smooth by passing feet. He sits on the only stool, which is just a remnant of an old tree and I kneel on one of the soft mats I have made from feathers crudely stuffed into a mattress made of pieces of discarded material sown together. 

We had found the dilapidated house on the banks of the Ringló in Lamedon, north-east of Dol Amroth, and decided to stay since the wind had quieted, no longer causing my unrest. Without sight the wind is like a hand pushing me from behind, a sense of direction and guidance in a world where North and South, the stars and sun are meaningless. 

How I miss the stars, the beloved of my people, though sometimes I can feel the pull of Eärendil.

The cloth is rough under my hands as I pull it away from Shaneth's gift. He had been working on it for many _enquier_

[elvish term for "weeks" – one week {_enqui_} is six days-] and I had often heard him singing as he did so; he says that it steadies his hands. It is a gift he has wanted to give me ever since he had begun teaching me the art of the staff and now it is finally finished. As the cloth falls away my fingers trail feather-light the length of the staff. To it's sharpened tip and blunted end, the craftsmanship is like no other. There is hard oak, wood of strength and protection, but it has been engraved upon, and with more touch I recognise markings to be the vine of my home, the Vine of Dol Amroth. The same vine I had embroidered countless times over, the vine of Varda – Queen of Stars. The vine is silver leaved and insubstantial, light as a feather to the touch yet its fragile appearance belies it's strength. The vine's flowers bloom both night and day until the first rain comes from the sea, and shine with ethereal beauty like many tiny stars upon earth. I touch the engraving again and feel a softer timber, Willow, wood of intuition and wisdom, inlaid within. My fingertips trace the vine again and find something they don't recognize, something round, but cut so that it has many faces. I gasp.

_" 'When the leaves are falling,_

_The wind it passes by,_

_It sings of Our Lady,_

_Of Varda, Queen on high._

_Yet the stars fought with the wind,_

_Of who that she loved more,_

_So the Lady bowed her head,_

_And spoke these words of lore._

_'I love the wind, it is true,_

_Yet the stars so brightly shine,_

_So both I shall, truly love,_

_And make into the vine.'_

_The vine it twisted like the wind,_

_Of silver almost unseen,_

_The flower bloomed in heavenly light,_

_A star on Earth, gift of the Queen._'

Shaneth's song reawakens the desire for home, for Dol Amroth, my beautiful city by the sea. My mother sung The Vine by my cradle when I was a child and a fierce stab of pain tears at my heart. What would I give to be a child, held in her arms after a bad dream, rocked to sleep, safe, loved…

" … tis the sis-ss-ter of the Arken-ss –st – stone, the Heart of-of-of (he takes a stolen breath) the Mou-mountain. This is the He-he-Heart of the Vine. A g-g-gift…"

I touch the many faceted stone, the Heart of the Vine, again and _feel_ it's light course through my veins, illuminating my dark soul. I know that this embedded gem represents the flower on the carved vine of my staff. The Elder call it the "re Hwesta Silme, Heart of Breeze and Starlight – the two elements in the making of Dol Amroth's Vine, and it was given to him as a gift from someone he refused to name and is his most treasured possession. 

"I am not worthy of such a gift, Shaneth –," but he silences my protests by gripping my hand and kissing it softly. The warmest display of affection he has ever shown. The only and the last.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"…almost unseen,

The flower bloomed in heavenly light,

A Star on Earth, gift of the Queen." Câlavendë ended softly, the last note trailing off into the gathering evening shadows. She did not have a strong voice, nor did it trill or inspire, but it was known as a storytellers voice. A voice that feels the tale and no matter if the tune was the same, the emotive force behind it could enthral an audience. Compared to a bard, her voice was a poor substitute as a sparrow is against a lark. A bard could feel the story and also add a musical element that was beyond compare. 

The silence lengthened without a word passing.

"You sing well enough…for one without training that is," Orophin grudgingly admitted.

"Ah, now we touch on one of Orophin's sore points. A century of musical lessons have failed to give this poor unfortunate nightingale one in tune squawk. A pity, because ladies seem to think a musically inclined edhel is a more sophisticated catch." She heard something hit Rúmil. "Oof…. What was that for?"

"At least I don't offer maidens the chance to learn the beautiful art of sword filing." 

"That mistake with Estorwen was a completely one off experience. I had no idea it would end so disastrously. Yet at least I can win the maidens by serenading them, whereas you seem intent on deafening them." He mock-whispered to Câlavendë, "He was forbidden last _ethuil_ [Spring] from even offering to sing the Lay of Nimrodel after he literally shattered Undomiel's wine goblet the _coranar_ [sun-round - year] before. I heard it was her favourite too."

"Excuse me, how many times must I explain. The buffoon Glornond tripped over his ever-expanding cloak-train, which I might add was at the height of elvish fashion at least 2000 _coranar_ ago, and knocked the goblet out of the Lady's hand."

"Yes, Yes whatever you say dear brother," aside, "terrible liar, always was." 

" Me?! A terrible liar? Who said the reason Elladan was without a shirt was because he could not find a clean one? You might remember he is practically a Prince of Elves and is likely to never run out of clean shirts in the near future when you spoke to Lord Elrond."

"Well at least Lord Elrond didn't see the slightly dishevelled _elleth_ hiding in the undergrowth."

"Yes, congratulations on so ingeniously preventing a case of father-slaying-son-with-bare-hands," Orophin's sarcasm hanging on every word.

"I know I'm a genius, I have been telling you that my entire life – an edhel prodigy." Rúmil sniffed, and started to walk with hands clasped behind his back, long direct strides and head erect in the air. 

"More like an edhel dunce," Orophin commented when Rúmil tripped on a large root.

"I'll have you know the youngest is usually the most intelligent in a family."

Orophin sighed dramatically, "To that I'm afraid we are the exception."

Their playful banter ended abruptly when Haldir suddenly stopped and turned on his heel, Câlavendë just recognising his presence in front of her before she careered into him.

"Enough! I cannot stand this dim-witted discourse anymore. I have met many obnoxious Elder in my years, but it seems my own brothers top the calibre for most aggravatingly, annoying, imbeciles. That is your talan," he points to a tree to the left, "that is mine, " he points to another tree at least 50 metres away. "Not one of you brainless creatures will be anywhere near me tonight. We leave at _minuial_[time before dawn]." 

Rúmil murmured, "Touché," and was given a death glare from Haldir. He stormed off to his talan and was soon climbing up into the canopy.

When she was sure he was gone, Câlavendë sat heavily on the ground and at first glance both Rúmil and Orophin thought she was crying. Her shoulders were shaking and she had her face in her hands and stifled sounds like a cross between gasps and sobs were coming from underneath her hood. It wasn't until they came closer that they realised she was laughing uncontrollably, though they were bewildered at it's cause. After she had finally calmed down she smiled wryly, it had been a long time since she had laughed so carefreely.

"Are you always like this together?"

"Yes," Rúmil responded instantaneously.

"Well, technically, no, on the fences we seem to grow up a bit. Or at least I do, I just ignore the immature ramblings of my younger and less worldly experienced brother." Orophin looked down his nose at his ever so slightly shorter sibling.

Rúmil tapped Orophin's chest. "I will have you know I was worldly experienced before you were."

Orophin raised one perfectly manicured eyebrow. "Oh really?" 

"Please, enough –  I don't think – my sides – can take much more," Câlavendë gasped between her laughter, holding her abdomen in earnest.

"As you say my lady. I guess we should go up, but whilst we are mobile, whose up for stealing Haldir's boots," two heads turned towards Rúmil in astonishment. "So-oo then, no-one's up for stealing Haldir's boots…?" 

"I think we should just leave him be and retire for the night. I don't think he would appreciate anymore disputes, especially after I refused to come with him," Câlavendë stated as she tied her staff onto her back. 

Orophin retrieved the rope ladder, adjusting it against the tree's base, which was an elm of great height. 

"Ladies first."

Câlavendë reached her hand out tentatively for the ladder, wavering a little in direction, before finally clasping hold of it.  The brothers noted this with quiet unease, once again reminded that their guest was no ordinary edhel. She began to ascend into the canopy, albeit a little hesitantly. 

 "It is not so long to Caras Galadhon tomorrow. You do know he would have tied you in a sack and brought you to Lothlorien that way if you had truly been stubborn? He is not used to being disobeyed." Rúmil called, already climbing up after her.

"Well he should be defied more often. He is becoming too arrogant and set in his own ways."

Rúmil sighed, "He is not so arrogant and cold as you seem to think."

_I will believe that when I see it and at the moment that is not a possibility._ Câlavendë clambered lightly up to finally sit on the small talan, Rúmil close behind her, and waited as Orophin drew up the ladder. The flet was small, but well screened from prying eyes, yet advantageous in the fact that they could see out quite well. They ate a meagre meal of lembas and strollin, a mixture of nuts and dried fruits that Câlavendë had from Dol Amroth and kept inside her belt pouch. The brothers were actually startled to hear a chuckle from her as they distributed the blankets and set the plaited screen against the wind, there was still enough evening light for the lamp to remain unlit.

"Come, come, spit out the joke!"

 "No, I was just thinking, 'thank-goodness I cannot see'."

"Why is that, fair guest-of ours?" Rúmil asked, taking out his knife and whittling at a broad stick he had found earlier in the day and saved for such a time as this.

"I am not too fond of heights."

-------------------------

**Thankyou too…**

**Darkslytherin'angel** – thankyou so much for your critique of my story – I have amended my mistakes and I respect your insights whole heartedly. I am so glad you picked up on the reference of Shakespeare.. I like to put some quirks in like that. Thankyou again.

**Lily Ashling **– you wouldn't happen to have read Obernwetyn would you? **Nada y pues** – two chapters is not all I'm up for, but time is something I tend to have losing battle with. This story is most likely to be over 20 chapters in length. **Yami Ray** – I didn't know my story could touch someone so much, I hope it will continue too – goodluck to you. **Bratprincess, Green eyes616 & Crystalline4** – not to worry I will keep writing, just for you all!! **Dönatallana ** - you will understand why I will respectfully decline your invitation though I do hope you keep reading. Blessed be. **Lalita **– you know how much you're wonderful!!! Speak to you soon! **Liomi** – thankyou, ah yes how she was made blind, that shall be explained further ito the story – just to keep everyone intrigued!! **Laureline** - *helps her back onto chair* - and I shall try to write faster! **Twenty four hour open **– I am happy to see you are finding this story intriguing! It is a little bit different, but then again I would'nt have it any other way! **Mel **– yes the development of characters I always find needs to be more than just physical characteristics and so it will be a long process of discoveryf or the readers, so that my characters become alive! **Guestofhalir's** – heating up as in love? Hehehe, not for a bit yet, but heating up in arguments – guaranteed. I love Rumil too!! **Sarah** – hello again! Hrmm your questions will be answered in the following chapters and I really don't want to spoil the surprise for anyone reading! Keep reviewing, gorgeous. **Sokochan** – thanks for your review and how you picked up on the Shakespeare! Yes, Rumil is a real sweetie. Not to worry the lady hasn't let Haldir off so lightly, yet! There are surprises to come, so enjoy! **Gloryfaith** – yes Dol Amroth was always a favourite of mine and I was saddened that it hardly got mentioned and I really liked Imrahil. I didn't want to portray him as a meanie, but as a man of the people and with compassion… so he always appeared to me in the books. I truly wish to explore the prejudices and show it's flaws about how it can blind someone of the truth if they let it, it's a major theme of mine too. Goodluck always. **Starwatcher, luckylily, Nikki Daisy Princess **– thanks for the encouragement, it means a lot! **Cam –** the prejudice is always an interesting topic for me!! **Amber Rose** – yes, I'm not for the mary Sue's… to predictable and originality is my theme! **Jfrog** – hello again! Please continue to sit back and enjoy the ride!! **Belladonna** – Bella, not to worry my harshness with Haldir is only temporary. Thankyou for your beautiful review.

**Notes:** This chapter was to lighten the mood. I was finding it has become morbid, and like many other short stories I have penned over time, they were all decidedly sad in most parts, though I am a perfectly happy person myself. If you did like the seriousness, do not be afraid that it will vanish – it won't. I have a lot in store for my heroine and hero's, and I believe this should include both grief and joy in equal measure – otherwise where is the life in the story without it?!! 

**See the lilac button – it says "Gorgeous, if you liked this, please send me a review!"**


	4. The Sparrow and the Cat

**Authors' Note: **Good for you, you are reading this little excerpt unlike many others who skip it to read the story – but I can forgive them as I confess to doing it myself sometimes. This story has really become something that almost writes itself – I have a basic plot line, but the characters seem to take on their own identities and pull the plot to places I hadn't thought to go  (for egs: no one was going to help Câlavendë and then Rúmil came on the scene with his humour and sweetness – that was even a surprise for me) – I actually wasn't going to make Haldir so arrogant, but he seems determined to be that way so how can I say no? I am sorry about the wait between chapters, but time seems to be against me. I really hope you keep enjoying and reading this legend and that it touches your heart and after reaching it's conclusion you sigh and say, "Ah, now _that_ was a story worthy of the many hours I sat here, numbing my derrière, reading and waiting for the next chapter."

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises and many characters are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me, I have no money!

**BIG NOTE:** _The poem found in this chapter is actually a lullaby I heard by Jewel and I don't own it. I gain no profit from the poem and I am not affiliated with Atlantic records in anyway. The poem/song is entirely Jewel Kilcher's_.

**Dedication:** To Nienna Nir, who has graciously accepted to being my beta reader and who has the gift of making one day seem so much brighter…. Thankyou again.

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The predawn light did not stir Câlavendë from sleep, instead, it was the swift jab on her shoulder that prompted her to awaken from another heartbreaking dream of Dol Amroth. Orophin, had debated on how to rouse their guest and had watched her sleeping form for a time. The hood she wore constantly must have moved during the night and now revealed her face, allowing Orophin to study what was to him one of the most mysterious elleths he had ever met. For a moment he had seen stubbornness in her jaw line, beauty in the curl of her small lips and sorrow in the darkened shadows beneath her eyes.  Eventually his silent decision was made to use the tip of his bow to tap her shoulder, as he still could not make himself physically touch her, cursed as he thought she was. Abruptly awakened, Câlavendë brought her staff tip, which he had not noticed was lying in her hands as she slept, a hairsbreadth away from Orophin's nose.

"Now this seems vaguely familiar," he commented dryly, belying the unease he felt at something so sharp so near to what he thought of as one of his greatest assets.

Câlavendë hurriedly withdrew her staff and pulled her fallen hood back over her head. She wondered if they had caught the faint blush of remorse that had swept over her pale features as she did so. N_umbskull…you are invited as a guest yet insist on almost murdering your host!_

"Forgive me, I am not used to waking in company." _Yes, not even as a seamstress did your deceiving betrothed ever stay the entire night. Instead he would steal away before dawn, afraid that someone would see him slipping from the room of one beneath him…_she sighed heavily…_let it pass, twas long ago. _

"Half awake and already trying to kill my brother? I am in awe of your forethought. Though I personally would prefer the use of strangulation as there would be less clean up afterwards." Rúmil twisted his face in disgust at the mere thought of having to remove Orophin's bloodstains from his impeccably clean warden uniform.

Orophin gently stroked the hilt of his dagger, an evil glint in his eyes. "Do you know what castration is, my dearest brother?"

Rúmil could not reply as a voice, sounding like a combination of barely restrained anger and ice cold determination, drifted up from the ground below.

"There will be more than one _edhel_ to castrate if you both don't move your pesky pointed ears down here, immediately."

Rúmil unravelled the rope ladder and let it drop down from the flet as he whispered over his shoulder to Câlavendë.

"Many say Haldir is deaf as a rabid orc. I have yet to ever agree with them."

"He sounds angry," Orophin mused and suddenly groaned with realisation. "Rúmil, tell me you did not do it?"

The latter only waved a pair of weathered boots in front of Orophin's eyes, forgetting that Câlavendë could not understand what they were talking about.

"What have you done?" she whispered, greatly intrigued.

Orophin cuffed Rúmil's ear, before answering. "We have currently acquired ourselves a shoeless March Warden. I was actually hoping he would be in a better mood today. Hooray for you brother, you have caused us to endure another day with a darkly brooding, superior-in-rank, older sibling. For this we might get twice as much Banquet Hall duties. Who is the genius now?"

Câlavendë smiled to herself and felt for the rope ladder to descend to where she could sense Haldir stood. Rúmil and Orophin followed reluctantly behind her, dreading the furious elf they would no doubt meet at the bottom. Haldir watched Câlavendë descend and was struck again by how well she moved without sight to aid her, but gritted his teeth when he espied his impish kin. When Câlavendë stood before him he remembered his duty and gave a stiff, but cordial bow.

"Suilad, Lady Suliell. I trust you slept well?"

He was taken aback when she turned her head away from him. _Ungrateful wench!_

"Very well, March Warden," she replied._ Oh, please you wouldn't care if I slept or not, spare yourself the breath._

Câlavendë felt Rúmil and Orophin behind her and they both seemed to be using her as some sort of edhel shield. Rúmil was trying not to grin at the sight of a bootless Haldir, though bemused at how his vain brother could still bear himself with pride. When he dared to look Haldir in the eye he saw both anger and some slight, evil, humour. Rúmil swallowed slowly, Haldir was surely thinking of a way to avenge his stolen footwear and by anyone's guess it would not be something Rúmil would enjoy overly much!

"My boots, brother."

Rúmil meekly gave back the aforementioned items, and Haldir took them from him roughly; all but snatching them from his hands. With as much dignity as possible Haldir turned his back to them and commenced pulling on his favourite pair of careworn boots. When he had finished he smirked slightly, bright eyes flashing.

"That has cost both of you Banquet Hall duties from _Orgilion_ to _Rodyn _['Day of the stars' to 'day of the powers'- about 6 days], plus extra bow training in the morning, and if you even think of shirking your tasks I will have no choice but to extend them."

"Come now, Haldir-brother-o-mine. It was not that bad," Rúmil pleaded. "I do not think just taking your odourous feet warmers on a little trip away from their merciless master warranted days of endless scrubbing at the Banquet Hall."

Haldir only narrowed his eyes. Rúmil, looking decidedly sullen, had to nudge Orophin to stop his muffled laughter.

"It wasn't their fault!" Three heads stared in disbelief at Câlavendë. Was she mad? Or did she have a fervent death wish that she had yet to tell them about, but was certainly trying her hardest to fulfil?

"Oh?" Haldir asked surprised. "Then would you _kindly _care to explain?"

_Lovely mess you have got yourself into Cala when will you learn to hold your tongue. Now what are you going to do?_ 

"Ahh…you see," ideas flitted through her mind, each one much more wilder than the first until, "… it was not their idea!!… it …was… mine…"

_Congratulations, now you have definitely made yourself orc fodder._

"Lady you do not need to …" Rúmil tried to stop her, but she continued unheedingly.

"…therefore you must remove this punishment." Câlavendë warmed to her desperate theme. "If any blame should fall on the guilty party it should be me. I apologise if I have offended you in any way."

Haldir knew that he could do nothing. As a guest Câlavendë was beyond his reproach and he knew she was only saying this for the sake of his brothers, but that did not mean he could not take sweet revenge.

"I am afraid, the penalty will stay the same, no matter your honourable lie. They need to learn some respect for their betters. In the mean time, Lady Suliel, keep your juvenile pranks to yourself." He leaned menacingly forward. "I will not suffer this again."

Câlavendë gripped her staff tighter. "Is that a threat, March Warden?"

Haldir resumed is earlier aloofness. "Consider it merely a polite gesture of forewarning."

The threat jarred her nerves, setting her heart racing in fury. Câlavendë did not like to be threatened; the least of all by Haldir, and another argument could have arisen if not for Orophin's voice. "The sun is rising, we should go."

Haldir glanced to the light growing in the East and without speaking lead them onwards. Lothlorien in the morning had a sense of timeless beauty. There the old world thrived and the natural unblemished quality instilled a sense fulfilment in those that came within its borders. Even the air felt wholesome, pure, as if it had never been breathed. Câlavendë could sense more clearly the living flora that surrounded her, but she Ladyed seeing the colours, the textures, the delight that only sight could bring by seeing. To any wanderer the awe they found themselves seeped in was well founded and expected. If one looked carefully, they would find the tangible vibrancy and antiquity gradually increase the further they travelled towards Caras Galadhon. To Calavende she felt its calm, grandeur and, resonating deeply below, its power.

The sun rose quickly behind them and it was nearing its peak yet they had still not reached the heart of Lothlorien, though Haldir promised it was not far. Orophin had begun whistling a merry tune when a piercing cry of pain came form the thickets not far from an old, rotting, fallen log and the group stilled as one. The wind swept through the wood and ruffled their cloaks, but they stood as if time had stopped their hearts, frozen into stone. It was a defence tactic that if a wanderer was in the open and noticed a foe before they spotted the wanderer, and they could not hide without drawing attention, the wanderer was to stand as still as possible. All eyes, even that of the enemy, are attracted to movement and light. Once the group discerned that they could see no visible adversary on the next breeze they slinked into the brush, crouching between logs and roots, trying to espy what had made their blood chill so violently. Peering between the leaves and into an accompanying grove they watched a darkly spotted, grey cat, larger and more powerful than that of its domestic cousins in the halls of men, stood hissing on a tree stump. His fur, matted in places where blood had congealed, had risen in hackles and tawny eyes were opened wide, looking up into the canopy above him. One paw was lifted tentatively off the ground, and it looked to be broken. Gashes could be seen on his face and back where something had obviously tried to take his life. As they watched three crows flew swiftly down to claw with their sharp talons the outnumbered feline. To their surprise it still fought bravely but in vain, using its hind legs to lift off the ground and swipe at the birds with his unharmed paw, only to fall back down again, tail switching menacingly back and forth as it watched for another onslaught.

Câlavendë was silently focusing her mind so that she could feel the essence of the living around her and build up a picture of what was happening. It frightened her to say the least, when she "saw" the birds attacking what was one of their key predators. She was startled when she heard Haldir's voice clearly beside her. He had moved nearer to be able to see more easily and was on the other side of Câlavendë's gorse bush.

"Hope they finish the vermin."

Câlavendë found herself to be agreeing, as she did not care for cats as much as she did for birds. Yet her mind refused to agree with an arrogant and conceited March Warden and her heart could not let a brave little warrior die ironically from carrion birds. She did not even like crows, the omens of evil as she thought they were. So to both spite Haldir and rescue a courageous injured animal she burst out of hiding and into the grove, wielding her staff so that it turned around her body, and yelling as loudly as her lungs permitted. To say whether the crows were more frightened than her edhel escort was something they debated a long time after the occasion, after all she looked and sounded as though a Maia of war had flown in from the heavens. Cobalt cape flying aimlessly behind her like a dark cloud, staff swirling so that it was but a moving blur, hood carelessly fallen back to let the tangled mass of rich auburn curls twist into living flames as the wind whipped through the clearing and her voice as pure as the sky, shouting calls to flee, to retreat, or else they would pay dearly with their lives. The crows winged off as if they had a tumultuous fire at their back and the wardens had to mentally stop themselves from doing the same. The cat was scooped to safety within the arms of a slightly dishevelled Câlavendë, who sat carefully on the trees base whispering calming words into it's battered ears.

The silence and harmony resumed and was only broken by the whine of the feline in severe agony, but too exhausted to make much of a fuss.

"Rúmil, Orophin," Câlavendë cried. "Help me with him, please". Gone from her voice was the commanding and perhaps terrifying grandeur and replaced was an elleth, alone and extremely worried.

She had no sooner than finished her sentence when both brothers came running, Haldir only stood slowly, angered by her obvious lack of inclusion of him. Usually it was the other way round if ever an elleth was in distress in Caras Galadhon and to have it so abruptly changed was like a sharp tack to his inflated ego.

Meanwhile Câlavendë realised she could do nothing since she could not see his wounds and she was most definitely not going to try and physically find them with her hands. She felt so frustrated at her inability to help, that if she were standing she would have stamped her foot for good measure. Rúmil gently took the weak feline from her arms and laid him on the soft moss. A sharp hiss of intaken breath was made as he closely observed the creature in front of him.

"Well look what we have here, the rare Ocelot. It lives in many woodland areas, but I have never seen one in Lothlorien. Look at this beauty, dark spots running from paws upwards before a creamy grey coat gradually fades them out. Tough little beast," he muttered lastly, ripping a cloth from the belt at his side and splashing some water from a tiny canteen onto it to wash the wounds.

"Some will need to be stitched," Orophin stated as he watched his brother's ministrations from above.

"I have a needle and thread, will that be enough?" Câlavendë offered, already reaching into the belt at her side to retrieve the hidden thread wheel and safely secured needle. Rúmil noted how the latter was crafted of mithril, clearly something of great value as most were wrought of silver, but made no comment.

He examined the broken front paw and thankfully it was a clean break, but it did mean once it had healed that he would be slightly weaker in one leg. The break proved to be difficult, especially with the Ocelot conscious of every move they made to try and push the bone back into place and bind it.

"We cannot reset this fracture with him lucid like this," Rúmil groaned and gently tied a cloth over the break.

He then threaded the needle and the Ocelot whined pitifully as his wounds were cleaned and stitched painstakingly slow. Each time the needle pierced the cat's tender skin Orophin had to hold him so that he would not move. When Câlavendë wasn't watching, the Ocelot used its other paw to strike out and scratch her arm and not long after lash out at Rúmil as he touched a particularly sensitive gash.  

"Curse you," Rúmil swore as the swift claws bit into his skin. "I'm afraid we will have to leave him like this. It is the best we can do."

Câlavendë faced Rúmil in horror.

"You mean to tell me that we are just to walk away whilst he is suffering! Have you taken leave of your senses?!"

At this point the slightly glowering Haldir decided that enough time had been wasted on one of his least favourite animals, rare or not, and that something had to be done or else they would never reach Caras Galadhon.

"Lady Suliel, we have not the time to heal and look after a feline. It is better if we let nature take its course."

Câlavendë stood abruptly and drew herself up to her full stature, shoulders back, head straight, hopefully in a posture that she remembered the Ladies of Dol Amroth using when they were about to disagree with a Lord. For once she did not care about wearing her hood, and her face mirrored her resentment. She was truly vexed at their total lack of concern or empathy. This one, brave, weak and injured Ocelot now had become more than just something to spite Haldir, she truly felt for its welfare and knew that if nature took its course there would be no hope for an animal of the wild. They were surely sending him down the lonely path to certain death.

"Forever is time enough. _I_ will look after the Ocelot." If her eyes could have responded to emotions they would have flashed angrily, daring them to say no. Unfortunately Haldir took up the challenge, crossing his arms over his broad chest and glaring formidably at the audacious elleth.

"You are _not_ keeping this Ocelot!"

 "You are not keeping this sparrow! You understand me? I will not be in the same room that a sparrow frequents and is welcomed by you."

We are in my palace chamber, where bolts of cloth ranging from the deepest blue to whitest white are to be found in row upon row, some leaning up against the comfortable and ingeniously crafted chaise, others against walls, cupboards and my writing stand. It may feel cluttered, but it is organised clutter and there is always light filtering through the open windows and reflected from my carefully chosen opalescent walls. It is good light, clean and direct; the light a seamstress needs so she can to work intricately on hems and sleeves, ties and clasps. My chamber adjoins onto the dressmaking studio through a heavy cloth curtain, a valued necessity.

I had not been expecting him, as _he_ only came in the late evening, and so was startled when _he_ suddenly appeared by my side, demanding that I listen to one of his many requests

"The sparrow, it must go. It has a presence which I find…," _he_ searched for the perfect word, "…infuriating."

I try to hide my shock, how can _he_ be so rude? Doesn't _he_ know how my brother found this sparrow and gave it to me once it had healed? I'm sure I had told him of the little turquoise sparrow and her value to my brother and I. Kellipson, second eldest and apple of both my parent's eyes, fair as the sun upon the waves and master ship smith until the war had called him to arms. _I had promised you, little brother, I would look after your sparrow whilst you fought, so you can find her safe when you come home to Dol Amroth, I will not cheat you of that joy_.

"I – I – cannot, my love, it was a gift from my brother."

_He_ turns to me, but I cannot see his face as it is in shadow and bright sunlight frames his striking form.

"Do it for me, _darling_," the word somehow sounds menacing coming from his perfect mouth. "Tell your brother the sparrow flew away, through your open window. He would never know." His voice as sweet as honey, yet its poison I would never realise till I am begging for my life over a crime I did not commit.

My face fell as I recognised his mood. A noble may slight him or refuse one of his many demands, and this enrages my love so much that _he_ must relieve it. Sometimes this vent is a duelling partner, who would come back bruised and sore. Sometimes it is passion spent on using my body. And sometimes, sometimes it is by using his unique talent of blackmail to bend another's will that reinstates his feeling of superiority. I know what vent he is using now.

I see the sparrow, perching delicately on the back of one of my chairs. Preening her gorgeous feathers, she looks content and I feel, with certainty, that I don't want her to go. She is a piece of my beloved brother, and he is wishing to see her on his return, I will not deny him that, not after so long. Not while there is still hope he may come home alive. The refusal rises to my lips.

_-There's a little bird, somebody's sent,_

_-Down to the earth, to live on the wind._

_-Blowing on the wind._

"No… _no_. I will not. Please, do not make me. I cannot, I cannot," I whisper through my fear, as silent, silver tears course down my face. _He_ is asking of me something that breaks my heart to do and _he_ knows it. I imagine my brother, what terrors he may be facing and thinking of his little bird safe with Cala, safe until now.

_-And she sleeps on the wind._

_-This little bird, somebody's sent._

_He_ steps towards me and I instinctively step away, shaking my head and trying to stare into his eyes, which are still in shadow. I let the unfinished embroidery fall forgotten from my fingers. Quickly _he_ grasps my face in his hands and at last I see his golden eyes staring so hate filled into mine that I shut them in terror.

"You will do as I say, my sweet, because you love me."

_-Light and fragile she's feathered sky blue_

_-Thin and graceful, the sun shining through._

I pull back violently out of his hands and my gaze is drawn to the little, carefree sparrow. Chirping softly and looking as innocent as a babe. I do not notice my tears of grief and indecision; the short, sharp breaths I take; the way my steady hands begin to shake so that clench them so hard my fingernails pierce my tender palm, no, only the tiny figure's infinite grace. I love my brother, yet I have my betrothed to please. Whose heart will I break, for mine was already torn long before? The brother. The lover. I do not want to choose, I should not have to choose.

The sparrow unexpectedly lifts her wings and swiftly flies to sit on my shoulder, a soft chirp from her and I know I cannot. I look towards him, resolute, and he sees the answer reflected in the steadiness of my mismatched gaze.

_-She flies so high up into the sky_

_-Way out of reach of edhel eyes._

I can see him snarl and it turns his beautiful face grotesque. Without warning he rapidly reaches out and grasps my sparrow and I can hear her calling with alarm from inside his hand.

"NO!" I cry and the urgency I feel chokes me. I rush to attack him, hitting his chest with my bare hands, always saying no, no, not now, not ever, let her go. I am hysterical with grief and anger, _he_ is hurting her, my sparrow, and I hit his face with a severity that I could never attempt in cold blood. _He_ only lifts his hand far above me and my protests do not seem to worry him, as if I am only a tiny breeze trying to push a large rock. The twittering from above me grows louder and I increase my assault on him, but he is unyielding.

_-And the only time that she touches the ground_

_-Is when this little bird…_

All of a sudden from his closed hand there comes no sound and I stop, cautiously looking up at him in aghast. His face is impassive as the back of his unraised hand connects with my cheek with a force that snaps my head to the side and leaves me gasping for stolen breath. I watch his arm lower and his fist open so painstakingly slow. The lifeless form of a blue sparrow falls to the cold marbled floor. _He _leaves without a second glance, slamming the door of my chamber. I collapse to the ground, gently picking up the tiny bird and cradling her fragile, lifeless form to my body, rocking her and whispering a thousand apologies that fall too late on deaf ears.

_…dies._

The memory burned.

"You are in no position to tell me what I can and cannot do, March Warden," Câlavendë replied icily, and began gathering her unruly hair into a knot and holding it in place with a smooth twig.

"I am only your escort, yes, and so unable to make any claim of you, but if I believe something that could harm Lothlorien is perhaps about to enter its very borders, it is my right to deny it access."

"You mean you think this Ocelot is going to go around killing Eldar in their sleep? Don't be absurd. You have more to fear from me, blind as I am, than from a simple Ocelot."

"You are a gamble I'm willing to take, especially since the Lady asked for you, yet I cannot say the same for the feline." Haldir swore the Ocelot hissed at him.

"For the love of Iluvatar, he is only a cat!" Câlavendë cried, gesturing in the direction of where Rúmil was still administering to him.

Haldir's eyes blazed with fury. "I said no and you _will_ obey me, end – of – discussion."

Haldir thought he had won when she did not reply, but bent down to pick up her staff and lean it gently against the tree stump. He was mistaken.

"Orophin, your cloak please," sensing Orophin had no clue why she wanted his cloak in the middle of the day she explained further. "I will carry the Ocelot to Caras Galadhon, if I have to. There I will find treatment for him and I need your cloak to carry him in." She held out her hand expectantly.

"Do not even think of it brother," Haldir stated dryly from behind her.

Apparently Câlavendë ignored Haldir's comment. "Orophin, I am waiting…"

"Orophin if you give her that cloak I promise you I will – "

"Orophin, don't listen to him, just hand me your –"

"OROPHIN!"

The aforementioned raised his hand and both Câlavendë and Haldir's mouths shut immediately.

"Ah, Rúmil, apart from now wanting to change my name, are they trying to include me in their little argument?"

"It appears so, brother." Rúmil feigned wiping away a tear of sympathy as Orophin rested his chin on his hand in thought.

"So, what shall I do about it?" Orophin asked.

Rúmil stood and glanced at the now silent arguing pair who were hanging on their every word. "Well, on one hand we could give the cloak to Lady Suliel and be eternally indebted to her, _but_ receive eternal Banquet Hall duties from Haldir…OR…we don't give the cloak to Lady Suliel and be frowned upon by a cursed elleth who could spread vicious rumours about our…_size_…but be absolved of all our wrongdoings by Haldir and never have to wash the inside of a plate again. Ahh, the choices one must make!"

Câlavendë said nothing and waited for them to continue. She could feel the tension radiating from Haldir and repressed a smile at his discomfit.

"I think I may have a solution," the tension visibly increased. "Why don't we flip a blade? If it falls on the engraved side we hand the cloak to Lady Suliel and Haldir does _not_ give us any more duties, because it is an even chance. Then if it falls on the non-engraved side we keep the cloak, Haldir retracts his decree on our duties and Lady Suliel agrees to not spread untruthful rumours about us. Well, what do you say?"

For a moment Haldir and Câlavendë struggled to control their rage, both did not want the outcome to be made upon a spinning dagger. Finally Câlavendë assented.

"Only if he agrees to let me go to Caras Galadhon carrying the Ocelot if I win."

"Agreed. And if I win, the Ocelot stays here. How is your luck these days, elleth?" Haldir replied smoothly.

"Better than yours, March Warden," she all but spat back. Haldir's breath fanned her ear and his tone made her skin crawl.

"Who said I was talking about good luck?"

Orophin took out his dagger and with all eyes upon him held it from the tip then threw it high into the air.

Câlavendë hoped with all her heart it would fall her way. It spun swiftly. Engraved. Not. Câlavendë. Haldir. Yes. No. The time seemed to stretch forever and her stomach tightened involuntarily as she heard the whipping sound as it descended and landed with a dull thud.

"It is … engraved. Here is the cloak you requested Lady Suliel."

Haldir cursed the fates profusely. He cursed his brothers and even cursed himself for making a promise that his own pride forbade him from breaking. Without a word Câlavendë took the cloak from Orophin gently and knelt to rap the injured Ocelot in it, ignoring the painful scratches she received in the process, and tied it across her so it laid against her abdomen. The she did not even wait for them as she proceeded to hesitantly pick up her staff and slowly walk away. She swore she could hear an arrow being put to string, drawn taught and aimed at her retreating back.

"Haldir?!" Oropin reproached, appalled.

"Stop putting your edhel ears in a twist brother. You know I would never do it, why would I want tainted blood on a nice arrow like this,… but I had to indulge myself for a moment." He took the arrow from his bow and put it back into his quiver. He then caught up to Câlavendë and took the lead again. He noticed a gnarled familiar branch not far ahead and, distantly, the sound of a swift flowing river.

"The river is not far from here," adding under his breath, "thank the Valar."

"River?" Câlavendë asked tentatively.

"Celebrant, or Silverlode as it is called in Westron. Caras Galadhon is on the Naith, the grand spearhead that lies between the rivers Celebrant and Anduin the Great. We must cross the river to reach Lorien and Caras Galadhon." Orophin enlightened her and as he spoke she could begin to hear the roar of Celebrant and feel its swift force. The river when she came to its bank, felt powerful to her keen senses. It's clear sparkling water, foamed and turned in eddies and about large rocks, so familiar to Haldir it was comforting to know it was still constant in a world full of change.

"How are we to cross?" Câlavendë had concentrated for a couple of moments to sense the area, but she could find no bridge to cross the cold, deep river.

"Well, I throw the end of a rope over to the other side where a sentinel will tie it to a tree on the far-shore and we anchor it as well on our bank. Then we walk, run or dance across it to the other side. Quite simple if you ask me." Rúmil stated matter-of-factly, watching Câlavendë's face transform into a mask of certain dread and for a moment wondering why she had not pulled her hood over her features as she usually did. Câlavendë knew the wardens could accomplish it, even dance across it like Rumil had said, yet without out sight and burdened by the Ocelot it would be no simple feat for her.

Orophin whistled and a Warden on the opposite shore appeared from what looked to be the very ground itself. The _hithlain_, the silver rope of Lorien, was expertly thrown over and knotted securely from both ends. Rúmil and Haldir were the first to cross, not wavering or showing imbalance, instead it seemed as though they were running across a flat highway, not a mere finger width of strong cord. 

Before Câlavendë crossed Orophin spoke gently to her, "I stay on this side for only a little while more, but I shall be in Caras Galadhon by morning. It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance Lady Suliel."

She realised with finality, it was an end to their short friendship, swiftly cut by a few words. Comrades on the road were not friends at the inn. She berated herself for being so naïve. It had been so long without any companionship that a little kindness, a little civility and she thought they would be her guides within Caras Galadhon, perhaps joke with her, let her stay with them…oh how foolish she had been. The revelation cut deep as she had just begun to relax, to count herself among friends, yet prejudice runs strong and a mere day is not enough to dispel the fear.  "But what of your cloak?"

"The night will be warm, so I have no need of it. Once you no longer require it approach any Warden and ask them to deliver the cloak to me."

Câlavendë tried to keep the hurt from her voice; she was not even to associate with him directly. If the knife of prejudice had hit her heart, it had now been ricked painfully. "Thankyou, Orophin. May the Valar bless and keep you safe."

The rope was above her and Câlavendë caught hold of the branch and climbed slowly up to the 'bridge.' The tough wood felt solid and living beneath her hands and it's presence comforted where she now stood. She focused her mind so that the _hithlain_ glowed silver in her mind and stepped carefully onto it, her heart in her mouth. That first step was always the hardest not knowing whether the rope would suddenly come loose and fall out beneath her so that she stepped onto air. It had been as a very young elleth when she had last attempted something like this, and though she had never fallen she knew the danger was immense. Once away from the tree and fully onto the makeshift bridge she had to find her centre of gravity or risk falling to the icy depths below. Her staff became a guide to where to put her foot next along the line and it was a slow and terrifying task, knowing that either side there is nothing to stop you from falling into the icy current.

About halfway along the makeshift bridge the Ocelot accidentally dug its claws through the cloth and into her soft skin. The sharp pain upset Câlavendë's focus, causing her to sway dangerously to the left. _Careful, careful_ she reprimanded herself and with a wave of certainty new Haldir was silently laughing to himself. She contemplated just falling into the river and being carried to the sea, which she knew and loved in the tiny moment between continuing to fall and still being able to right herself. The ocean did not assess her soul on whether she fitted the edhel mould to perfection. Only the fierce fighting spirit that helped her survive for so long willed her to not give up, not while there was some hope in the world. The hope that others could be found of the same disposition as Shaneth, rare as they are, there must be another who sees behind the physical shell and the wind would lead her to them.

She focused again and continued on, shuffling with one arm outstretched at her side and the other using the staff to lightly trace the rope ahead. When her staff thumped into the wood of the mallorn on the Naith, she sighed greatly in relief, resisting the urge to kiss the ground when she had descended.

Haldir whistled and Orophin, who had remained on the opposite bank, retracted the _hithlain_, waved his hand in farewell and retreated back to the borders of Lorien.

Rúmil was staring curiously at her, "What happened out there, on the bridge?"    

"Hrmm?" Her fright was receading, but being replaced by something else, something deeper. "Oh, Kellipson decided to claw me," Câlavendë responded vaguely patting the furry bundle. For some reason she felt confused like a presence was beside her and also everywhere – in the air she breathed, in the grass below her feet. It surrounded her.

"How quaint. Now you are _naming_ the vermin and where, pray tell, does that pathetic name come from?" Haldir arched his eyebrow in mockery. His contempt snapped her thoughts away from the overwhelming presence.

_Cala, let it go, just breathe, he knows not what he says_… "It was my brother's name," she whispered softly and drew her hood back over her painfully sorrowful features. The black tide she had just begun to awaken from upon entering Lorien, filled her mind again with grief and loneliness, the past was inescapable and future bleak.

Haldir almost felt guilt, if he could somehow progress past the fact that she was causing him far too much trouble for one escort, but Rúmil turned his head away in disgust of Haldir's manner.

To Câlavendë as her despair began to overwhelm her the presence suddenly intensified; flowing around and through her till it reached within the darkness to a pinpoint of light, Câlavendë's one and only hope. The light began to subtly grow and from it a voice so soothing, so beautiful and wise entered her tired heart.

_Welcome Lady Câlavendë to Laurelindórenan. You have long been expected._

ATTENTION: if you are tired of waiting for my next chapter I suggest you read either my other story which is **complete** "Of Silver Roses". If you finish that "A Tangled Web" by Nienna Nir and also "The Price of a Rose" by Angelus Feles. They are well worth the read so go ahead, take a chance and be immersed in wonderfully written stories.

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Again Thankyou to Nienne Nir: thanx for your help!! Totally understand. I hate the fanfics with a girl falls into ME – way to predictable!!  Bratprincess: chants with her 'haldir haldir haldir' – hrmm, my button sometimes appears blue other times purple?! Strange. Look after your laptop!! Sokochan: sorry about not updating for so long, forgive me. Galadriels judgement :next! Sarah: yes I did write the song myself and R and O should be in a lot more fanfics – theya re beautiful! Aimless-37: I also anticipate your next review – thankyou so much for your wonderful support. Cam: nice to see you again, sorry about the wait!! Caramel: sorry I didn't update sooner! Crystalline: I'm glad you see the same way as me with sad and joy in a fanfic, hope you enjoyed the chapter! Lalita: you're wonderful and you know it!! Yes, probably more than 20 chaps!! Andrea/Vaesse: thankyou humbly bows and I apologise whole-heartedly for your wait!! Yami Ray:  I really must have got on your nerves with the wait, sorry, accept this chapter as an apology. Trust me, this originality will work!! Kallastron: no, Cala did not commit the murder, if it's not obvious it soon will be as we delve more into her past!! Originality is my mantra! Luckylily: H and C will be bickering for a long while yet!! Moonbunny77: yes, I am all for competent females, but they all have a weakness and all have their secrets! Elenwe:  I'm not saying if she will or won't regain sight, that is still a turning point I haven't decided on, the answer will become clear in the end. All hail originality! Laivin: glad you understand my updating-problem!! I will read your story. Jfrog: hello!! Glad to see you again. Will keep writing just for you, lol!! ME: I am very very glad you liked it, I have many people say they like the writing and concept, but not the entire piece, thankyou. Lady Deidra: Tears are good for the soul and I am happy that my story was able to touch your emotions so. That to me is ultimate praise as a writer for the people! 

**Notes:** _Laurelindorenan: "Land of the Valley of Singing Gold"_ I really, really apologise so much for this late chapter, but I have been rushed off my feet and I truly like to give my all in these chapters – I want to give you a story that's characters are alive and I can only do that by spending time on it. I thankyou whole heartedly for your patience and can only say that perhaps using Author Alerts would be good if you want to know a.s.a.p when I have updated again. Muchos besos!! ……. If you have a friend suggest this fanfic to them if you like it. The more people this is able to touch and open their hearts to, the more I have fulfilled one of my dreams.


	5. The Lady and the Lord

**Authors' Note: **Well, what can I say? You all know how much I love you and I apologise a thousand times for the wait you had to endure between this chapter and the last. As I have said before, I was walking in the depths of Mordor with major family and personal issues that have kept me away from my computer. If you were in my shoes you would understand immediately the amount of stress and grief I have gone through, so please keep all reviews extra cheerful and know that I will always endeavour to give you a story that is well written and well loved. your Whyte Ivy

**Disclaimer: **I do not own nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises and many characters/places are taken from J.R.R. Tolkien's masterpiece. I gain no profit from their inclusion. Don't bother suing me, I have no money! Also this work is copyrighted in its entirety and you may NOT copy ANY part for websites etc. or personal/public use (including your own fanfic) without receiving an assent from its author (me!).

**DEDICATION: To all who have waited so long for this next chapter and have not given up hope of its final completion. (and of course my beautiful beta Nienna!)**

**NOTE: words encompassed by these [ ] are telepathic communications.**

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To Câlavendë the voice of a Maia could sound no sweeter than the voice welcoming her to Lothlorien.

_Come child, I shall be waiting._

The voice withdrew like a wave retreating back from the shore, though the illumination of her hope faded only gradually, the one reminder that what she had felt and heard was not a dream. A soft purr emanated from Kellipson and reverberated around her. It was then that she felt the unmistakable change in the air.

On the Naith to say that everything lived, was an understatement. The very air seemed to vibrate with an undercurrent that breathed power. This undercurrent was entwined in the wind to the leaves, the leaves to the bough, the bough to the tree, the tree to the earth, the earth to the water in a tapestry of amazing simplicity and yet overwhelming complexity. To Câlavend's 'sight,' it was like looking at a web made of flowing gold, green, white, and silver, and all in various hues. This land was protected, because it was loved, and that love made the protection even greater. Câlavendë was certain that one of great power resided within to keep it so.

Haldir tensed briefly as the Lady relayed a swift message, but its contents relaxed him somewhat and he breathed deeply the wholesome air of his home.

"We are almost there," Haldir stated and for a moment true joy showed in his eyes, yet Câlavendë, blind, missed seeing his eyes sparkle like sunshine on water as they journeyed on.

What surprised Câlavendë was the fact that she now travelled upon flat ground. The grass was smooth and felt strange underneath feet used to endless walking of uneven and often stony earth. She felt that here, within this Golden Realm, no-one could mourn the loss of Summer or Spring for all seasons were glorious in their own grandeur. Her footsteps quickened as her own heart began to sing in anticipation. She keenly felt the soft caress of the wind and the sun warming her skin when it penetrated the canopy far above. On one such occasion she found that they had walked into a large open space and beside her Rúmil sighed in contentment.

"Ah Cerin Amroth, never will I forsake thy peace and beauty."

Câlavend's senses perceived the change in the area surrounding her. The air seemed to fall reverent and heavy with the weight of time passing, and the earth remembered an age long past. Here was a sacred place and unbidden the story of the Lord Amroth and his beloved Nimrodel arose to her mind.

"_No tidings elven folk have heard of Amroth evermore,_" the last line of the Lay of Nimrodel fell softly from her lips. Haldir glanced at her quickly before walking more purposefully within the glade. "Amroth built and ruled my city in ages past, though he was lost to the sea that fateful day and Nimrodel was never found."

Rúmil cleared his throat.

"You are well versed in lore my lady. All what you have said is true to what the bards tell us and here is the place where once in the Eldar days Amroth's high house was built."

Câlavendë could sense the hill rising in front of her and the two rings of trees crowning it. There also stood a _mallyrn_, the largest of them all, in the centre and high within its branches was a white _talan_. If only she had sight she could have seen the grass coloured a rich emerald green, that was at once all greens and yet utterly different, covering the hill. She could have smiled over how the outer circle of trees had bark of snowy white with leaves of silver and pearl, and the inner were the _mallyrn_ of grey trunks and golden leaves. Yet this she missed, only able to see a ghost of what the world around her entailed.

Along with the distinctly earthy scent Câlavendë could smell a sweet aroma that with a stab of remorse reminded her of the Vine of Dol Amroth's flower.

"It is strange," she hesitated, unsure. "I can swear in this glade is the Vine's flower."

Rúmil laughed lightly and gently plucked a pale bud from the ground at his feet, gently twirling it between thumb and forefinger. "It is the _niphredil_. Always do they bloom at this place alongside the golden _elanor_ and cover this hill with their beauty. The elleths of the city often weave wreaths of _niphredil_ flowers and sometimes it is used as a token of love. Many I have received and not returned the ardour of the giver."

She snorted softly. _Ellon! Always stroking their ego's among other things…_

"Tell me, lady, how do you tell an elleth that you do not care if they have pined for you for years, or saved themselves for you or even embroidered cloths for our children, without giving them a good shake." He genuinely seemed baffled and she was hard pressed not to laugh.

"Well," she cleared her throat. "Always tell them in person, gently, but firmly. You only shake an elleth in extreme cases for example when they begin stealing your shirts to sleep with. You could always have your brother, the March Warden, with you so they do not feel so inclined to appeal your decision. He would be more than glad to tell them where to place their affections and it will not be somewhere pleasant."

Rúmil smiled wryly at her words and an idea formed within in his thoughts. He lightly pulled on Câlavend's sleeve. "Here, I want to show you something."

Câlavendë, curious, followed him carefully as they made their way up the hill. Her staff seemed to quiver each time it struck the ground and she shivered with a queer sense that she walked the same path as someone else had a long time ago. A voice called to her from above and she realised, a little foolishly, that she was perilously close to walking straight into the great tree at the top of the hill.

"Climb up here using the ladder at the base of the tree." Rúmil instructed her and she eventually stood beside him on the large white flet above the Golden Wood. A sudden gust of wind swirled her cloak around her as she silently stood there and, within it, she thought she could hear the very distant sound of waves crashing on the shore and the cry of the gulls. Weathering the storm of emotions this sound brought to her mind, she was left wondering if she would ever stop hearing the sound that echoed in her blood and resounded in her ears.

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My feet savour the wet sand giving way beneath my feet as I wander slowly along the beach at dusk just below the hide tide line. The wind, tasting of salt, whips my hair so strands fall across my face like red welts and twists my shift out and around my form. I jump back and laugh softly as a particularly swift wave rolls in and washes over my feet, its coldness sending my skin to bristle slightly. The haze begins rolling in from the ocean making the coast seem misty and ethereal, Ulmo, Lord of Waters, must be sulking somewhere in the deeps. My blood sings as I stop to face the endless sea. I had never been more sure than at this moment that the fluid that coursed through my veins ran with seawater and wind, not the liquid red of the Eldar.

Father had told me once, when I was an elleth constantly running down to the beach at any opportunity, that it was a part of the Firstborn to long for the sea because to cross it meant to reside forever in the healing lands of Valinor. Yet my longing had never been like that. I loved the ocean itself, not what lay beyond the horizon. I loved it because of the way it was temperamental in mood and consistent in rhythm. No matter what would happen in the world the waves would always keep crashing on the shore, keep wearing away at the rocks, keep rising and falling in endless ahhhhhs, shhhhhs and booms like the falling of a hundred maces. I did not long to cross the sea to the other realm like my family. I wanted just to stay endlessly close to it.

I know how my people valiantly resist the siren call haunting them, voiced by the cry of the gulls and the sound of the breakers. It was their choice to live by the sea with the rest of their kin and together decide when to dismiss this Middle Earth for the land closer to the stars, but it rips at their hearts and the pain reflects in their eyes.

I stand transfixed as a gull makes a swift dive and skims over the waves before wheeling overhead in a blaze of white. It calls mournfully and turns twice before making its way out to sea.

_What would it be like to have wings like yours?_

Ahead a little sand crab walks its curious sideways walk into the sea and disappears beneath an incoming wave. I choose a strand of sea kelp twisting its smooth surface around my hand admiring its varying colours before letting it fall to remain on the sand once more.

The marina is not far ahead, but somewhere behind me a sweet voice shouts my name. I resist the urge to keep walking as if I had not heard her and reluctantly turn my back on the white sails and tall masts of the Dol Amroth quays to run back to where my sister waits. I had lingered too long.

On the wind I hear the faint cry of the gull and the sea sighs in return.

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She tasted the salt on her lips, waiting for Rúmil to speak and was touched when he began to describe what they could see from their high place.

"To the south you are able to see the city of Caras Galadhon rise out of the Golden Wood, as the great _mallyrns_ in which our city is built grow tall and strong upon a hill. From there lies the power that you feel within this realm. We turn eastward," his hand gestured slowly, "and you can witness the forest extending on like a carpet of green and gold, even Anduin the Great is like liquid silver winding its way beneath the trees. Further out is the southern reaches of Mirkwood, and Dol Guldur, where evil dwells still. To the north west the wood stretches far, but beyond that is Moria where minions of the nameless one have gathered and overrun the deep halls. We stand now in Lórien, a place where we are both between the hammer and the anvil, yet we are not beaten by both." His voice became softer, almost pleading.

"We have the protection of a higher power and also of our own skilled warriors, the wardens, which keeps this land free from evil influence or interference. It is our love for our realm and its inhabitants that we are so watchful and quick to seek out the enemy rather than the friend. It is our honour and our duty to more often lay hand on the bow string rather than that of the harp, perhaps it is also our curse.

'For the Firstborn, the Eldar, death is irrelevant, but it is not until we deal the fatal stoke upon another that we realise just what death is and how close we are to it in battle." Rúmil suddenly turned to Câlavendë as if trying to make her see something clearer. "Ask any of us of our devotion and the reply would be the same. We would die for this realm."

Still confused as to why he was telling her this she nodded. Could it be that he was trying to show her a world she could not see, but was about to enter? She was not certain. What she did know for sure was that Rúmil spoke truthfully and she could understand the love for his realm for did she not also feel the same for a white city by the sea.

Câlavendë tried not to start in surprise as a cold voice sounded from beside her. She had not even noticed Haldir's entrance and she wondered if he had been with them the entire time. He stood proudly, storm tossed eyes scanning that which he protected.

"Upon Lothlorien there is no stain. There is no imperfection in the Lady's realm. We risk our immortal lives because of the world that is given to the Eldar who reside within is alike to that of ages past."

Realisation dawned. _They are trying to tell me I don't belong here. _Câlavendë had never felt so keenly aware that she was out of place in this realm of perfection. Wardens were giving their lives for this utopia and she had a deformity never experienced by her kind. In Caras Galadhon she would find no joy, surrounded by that which she could not be. Feeling she was the stain on this perfect world Câlavendë resolved to meet with the Lady, heal Kellipson and be on her way as quickly as her feet would carry her. Perhaps the wind would lead her over the mountains and to Eraidor.

Rúmil, to put it mildly, felt like pushing Haldir of the flet. What had begun as just a way for Câlavendë to see why Haldir and the wardens acted so harshly towards her when all they were doing was trying to protect something they loved, Haldir had completely ruined. His kind heart could sense she now thought that they were trying to make her leave because she was cursed and his mind tried to think fast enough to salvage what was left of his plan. Rúmil was about to rephrase, but Câlavendë had silently returned to the ladder and was morosely climbing down.

If looks were daggers Rúmil could have seriously injured Haldir, who raised his shoulders as if to say, 'what did I do?'. Rúmil groaned aloud in exasperation and stomped over to the ladder descending swiftly so that he jumped the last few metres to the ground. Haldir could hear Câlavendë murmur that they had best make haste to Caras Galadhon and for the life for him could not understand why Rúmil was so angry.

Haldir, March Warden of Lorien, breathed a sigh of relief when they stood on the white stone path at the brink of the fosse surrounding Caras Galadhon.

"Home."

That one word held so much promise. The journey from Cerin Amroth had been extremely tense with Rúmil glaring at Haldir, Haldir ignoring Câlavendë and Câlavendë not talking at all. All had welcomed the sight of the City of the Trees, even if Câlavendë only saw a vague outline, because it meant an end of what had been a most eventful journey. Before them the fosse dipped deep and the cities living ramparts of tree, vine and stone, that at first glance looked to be just a green wall, rose up from the other side. Behind the ramparts the city could be seen and heard within the many _mallyrn_ that grew high beyond sight. Singing and gentle laughter echoed through the trees and lanterns glinted merrily from heights unknown. Haldir lead them westward along the perimeter of Caras Galadhon and Câlavendë was surprised at how far she walked yet the city still rose away to her left. Eventually they came to a white bridge and crossed to stand in front of the cities great gates framed on both sides by the wall.

Living boughs entwined alongside the beautiful and incredibly strong silver mithril made a gate that was at once striking to behold yet powerful past measure. Lanterns, that burned both night and day, swung from the top of the gate like a string of pearls and each side mirrored the other in perfect proportions. The branches had formed so that if one stood back from the gates two trees could be seen, one gold and one silver on each side. Telperion and Laurelin, the Two Trees of the Valar. The gates were well made by Eldar smiths from long ago and very tall, but only showed a mere shadow of the trees that had stood in the blessed realm. Strength seemed to radiate outwards from it but was tempered by a calmer, a more wise power beneath.

Haldir gently placed a callused hand upon the gates and murmured softly. It opened without a sound and, as they walked through, it seemed also by no living hand. Câlavendë felt an icy finger of doubt trace her spine as the gate closed with a soft rumble behind her and warnings arose in her mind that this city could be both fair and deadly at the same time, just like an edhel blade.

Haldir turned and if Câlavendë could have seen him at that moment she would have seen the Warden become the ellon for a rare moment. So swift was his movement his cloak spread out behind him and his silver hair glinted with both lamp and sunlight. He bowed extravagantly, his eyes twinkling with sudden merriment. The clasp at his shoulder shone brightly and he seemed to gleam with inner power.

"Welcome to Caras Galadhon!" he stated proudly. "You stand now in the city of the Galadhrim, wisely ruled over by the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. It is the Lady of Lórien's wish to speak with our guest immediately and I shall lead you there anon."

Rúmil smiled slightly at his brother's antics, understanding his fey mood at being home again after so long. True joy was an emotion he rarely displayed. Turning to the silent elleth beside him, Rúmil clasped Câlavend's slender hand in one of his gloved. He felt her start in surprise and perhaps fear.

Slowly he bowed over her hand.

"And it is here I must make my exit and unfortunately take my leave of you. I believe this has been a most … interesting encounter and by chance we may meet again, Lady. May you find peace and rest, and," he added with a gorgeous smile, "healing for that Ocelot within our fair city." Câlavendë tried bravely to believe his words of 'peace' and 'rest' and failed miserably. He released her gently when she did not reply and left with a look at Haldir that said that they would speak long and deep together later. He lightly ran up a winding stair at the base of one of the great _mallyrns_ and was soon out of sight. Shouts of welcome could be heard far above the two now left alone at the cities gates.

Tension brimmed between Haldir and Câlavendë, and the latter felt that if he did not speak soon she would leave Caras Galadhon so fast she would be far away before the dust from her boots had settled, an audience with the lady or not.

Haldir's mood had sobered and he looked now at the elleth in front of him. As an outsider she was truly going to find it hard to integrate within this perfect society with its ancient customs and almost allowed himself to feel joy at the thought of watching her try and fail. His heart lifted suddenly, perhaps in shame the stain would not remain long upon the plain.

"Follow me," he said suddenly and Câlavendë recognised that the voice was now that of the March Warden and she shivered in its coldness and authority.

They wound their way between the trunks of the great _mallyrns,_ up many stairs and winding paths till they came to a wide glade where a shimmering fountain fell into a silver basin. From that basin a white stream flowed out between the trees. All around they were surrounded by the lamps of the Galadhrim soft and inviting, shining on the soft grey boles of the _mallyrn,_ adding to the wan sunlight that infiltrated through the canopy_._ Three edhel, with cloaks the colour of new snow and in mail that gleamed as they moved, stood beside a great winding stair that started at the base of the largest _mallyrn._ Haldir stepped forward and Câlavendë felt them bow slightly in acknowledgement of his rank. One blew on an ornately carved horn and the note was loud and pure. From the heights above it was answered three times and they were motioned to ascend.

As they climbed higher, _talans_ and tree pathways spread out from their stairway in all directions and they began to meet others crossing their path. They always greeted Haldir warmly; especially the elleths who seemed to falter a little in their attentions under his stern gaze and Haldir always answered them with a cordial pleasantry in what could be said as an annoyingly arrogant manner. Their eyes seemed to linger on the slight elleth beside him whose face was hidden beneath the shadow of a deep hood and no sooner had they left when the word had begun to spread about a mysterious elleth, with a shadowed face and ornate staff, who had arrived unannounced and was at this moment making her way to speak with the Lord and Lady.

Câlavendë felt their stares and she shrank away from them. It had been such a long time since she had been around a large group of her own kin and fear coursed through her at the thought of their curiosity. It would be all too soon before they found out the truth and the curiosity would turn to disdain. She almost screamed wondering what she had done to offend the Valar so that they allowed such behaviour among their beloved children.

They climbed the last flight of stairs and entered a large hall built in the branches of the great _mallyrn_ with sunlight piercing trhough the boughs above. Filled with this warm light the room glowed and many seats were positioned around the chamber, yet all but two were empty.

On two great chairs canopied by a living branch sat the Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel. Both were clad in a white that seemed to have its own luminosity and wore an elaborate circlet, one of mithril and the other gold. The Lady had hair the colour of the golden sun and the Lord, the hue of platinum. Their age could not be guessed as their beauty was timeless, yet within the deep pools of their eyes wisdom could be seen that had been gained through much sorrow, toil and passing of time. Their eyes were kind, but stern were their features except for Galadriel who at the sight of her March Warden and Câlavendë smiled almost unnoticeably.

Standing within this hall Câlavendë felt overwhelmed with the presence that had enfolded her as she had stepped upon the Naith, and subconsciously knew that inside this very chamber the source of the power dwelt. Like a very strong light in what was once a dark room the presence was almost a physical push to her body and she felt she needed to take a step back. Haldir noticed the way she stopped herself from withdrawing back a pace and his once passive features fell into a smirk. _So she should be intimidated._

Câlavendë reluctantly pulled back her hood, as she knew it was impolite to be masked in front of sovereigns in their own realm. She smoothed her hair and tucked tendrils that had sprung free behind her small pointed ears. In the same room as these perfect Eldar she hated looking so unclean with mud still caked on her boots and dirt on her clothes and cloak.

They walked towards the Lord and Lady and stopped as both Celeborn and Galadriel gracefully stood to greet them warmly.

"Lady Câlavendë, daughter of Súl, from Dol Amroth we formally welcome you to Caras Galadhon as a guest of this realm. March Warden, I also welcome you home. You have been too long at the borders."

Câlavendë felt the deep and melodious voice of Galadriel wash over her like a wave. Haldir placed a hand over his heart and bowed deeply towards his superiors. Câlavendë, not knowing the traditional structure or customs, resorted to the etiquette of Dol Amroth. She touched her forehead and then placed the same hand on her heart and bowed low as a sign of respect and acquiescence. Kellipson whined softly within his cloth pouch.

Celeborn acknowledged them with a regal nod and watched with amusement as Haldir rose and Câlavendë followed a moment later, obviously taking her lead from Haldir.

"Lady Calavende you hail from Dol Amroth, do you not?" Celeborn asked his eyes warm.

Câlavendë prayed her voice would still work. "Yes, my lord," her voice wavered but held.

"Long days have passed since we have seen our kin from that fair city. We wish to speak with you more." As he sat back again he noted how her jaw tightened as obviously he had unknowingly struck some hidden cord.

Galadriel had looked long and hard into the face of Calavende and now turned her keen gaze to her March Warden and it was his turn to flinch. He cast down his eyes as he saw her disappointment.

"You disobeyed our laws March Warden." Haldir's blood ran cold at first at the thought of punishment and then iced over at the thought that she would chastise him in front of Câlavendë. "I sent no word to you of the fate of Lady Câlavendë and you decided to take it upon yourself to take offence to a condition that is beyond your comprehension to endure," Câlavendë blushed deeply at this reference to her blindness. "Will you in the future let such arrogance and prejudice override the laws that govern us? Will it be on the borders or in battle where you risk the lives of those around you? You were foolish and I was ashamed that you, highest commander of the Wardens, behaved in such a way that is against all our teachings. Therefore I have decided that for one _enqui_ you are stripped of your title and relieved of your duties. At the end of this time you will have to prove to us why you should remain the March Warden and if you fail, the title will be forfeit. Do not abuse the leadership you have been given, Haldir. I shall not be so lenient again. You stand chastised and forewarned."

Galadriel's words, spoken in a tone that was calm, but also deeply commanding, cut into him like tiny knives. Added to this was the fact he was shamed in front of the one he had tried hard to turn away. He wanted to appeal her judgements, but reprimanded had not the right.

"I expect you to make amends to our guest for this injustice, Haldir," she prompted, one eyebrow elegantly raised.

Haldir stiffly turned to Câlavendë, jaw tight.

"Please accept this humble apology and forgive my unjust, though provoked, behaviour. I hope that our encounter has not adversely affected you in any way, Lady Súliell," he said through thin lips.

Câlavendë, digusted by his insincere speech, allowed anger and steel to lace her voice.

"Your _apology_, March Warden, though not heartfelt, is acknowledged and forgiven are all your grievances towards myself. The slight, however, _will not be forgotten_." She knew she stood on a precarious edge, inSúlting Haldir before his own Lord and Lady, but she would not let him think that he could be absolved from all wrong doing with an apology.

[_I do think, my lord, that he has much to learn from this elleth._]

[_As do I, beloved._]

"This event I know will not occur for a second time!"

"Never, my lady. I swear it shall not happen again." Haldir uttered with upmost sincerity, bowing low.

Galadriel's tone lightened.

"You may wait outside for now Haldir, my Lord and I will converse with you shortly about the activity on our borders, there is much to discuss and I know you have much to report. For now we wish to speak with Câlavendë," she paused, watching the elleth's face carefully. "… alone."

In astonishment Câlavendë felt her heart painfully skip a beat. From inside the cloth the Ocelot shifted.

Haldir bowed low again and retreated proudly from the chamber to stand outside. All could hear the sickening sound of one fist hitting unyielding wood.

[Y_ou do not think I was too harsh?_]

[_No. You just wounded his pride. In this way he will learn that even as March Warden he is not above the laws that govern our city. It sends a warning to all our wardens as well._]

Celeborn turned his gaze again upon the now nervous elleth.

"Please, sit with us," he murmured.

Feeling as if her knees would give out at any moment she allowed herself to walk towards a seat that had been set aside for her. Both the Lord and Lady sat down elegantly. Her staff hit the seat's legs with a loud 'thwack' and she grimaced at the harsh sound in the silent chamber. Concentrating hard on her every movement in relation to what she sensed she was able to sit gracefully without mishap, laying her staff to one side. She clasped her hands in her lap tightly, fear gripping her heart. In the silence she could hear the whisper of a leaf falling to the floor.

"We understand you hail from Dol Amroth. For far too long we have heard only murmurs of thought and action from that city, isolated in our realm as we are. Tell us, what news, Lady Câlavendë," Celeborn asked, leaning slightly forward in anticipation of her response. He did not have the power to see the minds of others like Galadriel did, and so he relied more on what he heard from messengers and long conversations with his beloved.

Câlavendë swallowed nervously. "I am afraid all news I may have is not recent nor perhaps relevant any more," silence again claimed the hall and she felt this as a gesture to go on. "When I … _departed_ from Dol Amroth it was after Prince Imrahil's Captain and close friend, Lord Anardil, was murdered. A suspect was chosen and condemned, but I know not of the punishment," the lie stung her lips and burnt her throat. "The Corsairs of Umbar have been harrying the coast of late and we have sent many ships to attack those who lie in wait upon the sea. The banner of a white ship on blue has flown in battle upon the ocean for many years of men. I believe the Prince, though wise, seems to be poorly advised by one I find to have much venom in his sugared words. No others feel the same. We survive within our high walls, though our numbers are many. That is all I know."

[_She started with a lie yet ended with severe truth. Such a contradiction is uncommon. Should I press her?_]

Barely noticeable Galadriel shook her head before she spoke.

"And what of you, Câlavendë? You travel alone, which we find admirable yet foolish in these uncertain times, that much is known. Mystery surrounds thy form and I feel that you are like a breath of wind. Hold you to close and you will twist away vehemently, yet set you free and your power fails. Why is it that you are so far from home? Who and where is your kin?"

This at least Câlavendë knew the answer too.

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The sound of running footsteps can just be heard over many voices and the strands of jovial music being played by minstrels. Those who are dancing, twirl about majestically and I watch as my sister weaves her way through the crowd, nodding gracefully to those who murmur well wishes. Face beaming in happiness, Pelladiel laughs as she embraces me close, her midnight curls smelling of salt and mint.

"You have come. I was so afraid that some tear to a royal under garment would keep you away. Look," her gaze shifts from the many faces talking by the walls and those who dance in the centre to the great tables laden with gourmet and exotic delights. The lighted tier of two hundred candles on a wheel hanging from the high ceiling make bejewelled dresses shine and the room turns into a kaleidoscope of moving colours. "All this is for me, and the night has yet to start." Her sweet voice rises above the hum of the revelry and I protectively notice others eyeing her in a suggestive manner. The rich blue of her gown accentuates the deepness of her eyes and perfection of her form and I know she is pleased with the amount of male attention she is receiving because of it.

"I do swear, you are the vainest elleth in all of Arda, Pella." I exclaim only half joking. Youngest of the family she has perfected the art of enamouring all to her so that she can preen under their compliments and use their love to her advantage. This party to celebrate her maturity was an example of her manipulation. Failing to accept a small ceremony like Kellipson and I, she endeared Lord Anardil to her cause and he on her behalf had gradually worked upon our parents until they agreed.

Grabbing my hand, Pella begins pulling me over to where my family stands at the edge of the great hall, conversing with those around them. Before I reach them, almost tripping over people in my forced haste, a hand snakes around my waist and a warm voice whispers into my ear.

"One would think, sister o' mine, that you arrive late just to escape the pain of welcoming stiff backed edhel and gossiping women at the beginning of this night."

I grin and turn to kiss the cheek of my brother affectionately.

"Suilad, to you too, dearest Kip." I step back, still smiling and note how well Kellipson looks in his celebration finery. Working on ships has given his broad shoulders shape and he fills out the elegant dark green tunic, which highlights the emerald of his ocean eyes. All too soon I know he will be back in peril upon the sea. Tonight he looks healthy and content with a mischievous grin upon a well-defined face. I push back a lock of his fallen onyx hair, that seems to have a deeper hue of blue to it and he catches my hand to kiss it gallantly.

"You look exquisite tonight Câla. I will not be surprised if you have company seeking ways to wear less clothing in that sewing room of yours after this finishes," he raises an eyebrow suggestively and I punch him lightly on the shoulder, smoothing the non-existent creases from my own shapely dress.

"And you, I think, will be finding a nice little balcony to haunt far away from the Lady Cesina?"

Kellipson's face paled and his body tensed.

"I thought she was not invited?"

I put my hand over my mouth to stop the laughter, as the terror on his face is bordering on downright comical. Seeing the jest he rolls his eyes, trying to ruffle my hair as I embrace him.

"Ah, Kip, you have always been my favourite brother."

"Câla, I'm your only brother," he reminds lovingly.

"Precisely." Resting my head against his chest I become sober. "How long?"

He grazes his chin across my head and whispers into my hair. "Three _enqui_, maybe less." I sigh, but he lifts my head with his fingertips. "Which means we have less time to prepare for the great Purple Haired Elf Extravaganza." I laugh again. It is a long running joke between us, wanting to dye three prudish lords' silver-tresses a bold violet whilst they sleep.

Pella coughs slightly and for a fleeting moment I see an emotion in her eyes I do not understand before it swiftly passes to be replaced with humour. For the moment I ignore the feeling of trepidation it causes and look behind me to find my parents, elegant in their edhel aura and bow formally before rushing into their arms.

"Daughter, what a sight for edhel eyes you make. How do you fare in your new home?"

I laugh lightly and kiss the forehead of my father. Imposing in a kingly way, he is broad shouldered and tall with a foreboding face that changes dramatically when he smiles. Slow to anger, when mad his fury is great and terrible, but he is more prone to laughing than aggression.

"You make it sound as if I have moved to Minas Tirith! The palace is wonderful Ada and I have just been proclaimed Royal Seamstress by the sovereigns of Dol Amroth," I watch as his face lights up with joy and satisfaction, "and I am treated with much respect as both elleth and seamstress. Oh Ada, the cloths I work with are of all different tones, shades, weaves and thickness and it feels so right to do what I have always loved. I am truly blessed."

He places his callused hands on either side of my face and whispers vehemently, "I always knew you had a gift and I am pleased to find you are using it well."

I lower my eyes, and he gently pushes me in the direction of the dancers.

"Go, I believe your brother is waiting for you to show these revellers the true meaning of dance."

I touch his hand momentarily before moving towards Kip who is speaking impatiently to one of the minstrels beside the dance floor. Pella is talking animatedly with Naneth, who smiles meaningfully as I pass, and again I see the strange look pass across my sister's beautiful face. I murmur greetings to those I know and wonder at the Eldar talking to the mortal humans, the edain. Talking with friendship to a man that would live only a short time in the reckoning of immortality, knowing he will age and all too soon die. So many conversations must start with, "You are much like your grandfather, child."

Eternal life does not mean the Eldar do not feel the death any less of those of the edain they have befriended in their short time upon Arda. What it does mean is that we cannot dwell on loss too long or that sorrow may consume us, fading it is called. Fading saves us from an eternity of anguish, after all forever is a long time to always grieve. Mortals say my kin are cold and heartless, but sometimes the Eldar have to be able to put aside grief or our race would no longer stay this side of the sea.

I recognise immediately the song Kip has chosen and as he leads me into the dance, for a little while I can loose myself in the rhythm and colours of music.

-------------------------

Câlavendë touched her staff lightly, drawing strength from its solid weight.

"My mother is Lady Elenarya and my father Lord Súl, who are part of the last host of their kindred. Soon they all shall sail to the Undying West, but for a time have dwelt in harmony with the edain of Dol Amroth. I have two younger siblings, Kellipson and Pelladiel, the former currently serving upon the ocean under the Ship and Silver Swan, the symbol of our city. I travelled with a … friend for a time," thinking of Shaneth and his sacrifice tears shone in her eyes, but she blinked them back. "But now I journey with the wind as my guide. My Lady, by your grace, I will stay here only as long as it takes to heal this Ocelot. My Kip," the pet name for her brother fell softly from lips that suddenly refused to move. A hand seemed to have taken her heart and twisted it painfully within her chest.

[_She does not tell us why she left Dol Amroth._]

Galadriel studied the sorrowful elleth before her and noted the intense inner battle to remain composed.

[_Yes, there is much she leaves unsaid, but I believe it may be for her own protection. Living sightless has left her in a world of shadows._]

The Lord leaned forward, with what could have been intrigue on his usually emotionless face. "Do you suffer true blindness?"

Câlavendë clutched her hands and bravely lifted her head, concentrating on sensing the nobility before her and feeling again like her face was bathed in light from their direction.

"Yes, my lord."

"So you see nothing? As a child of the Eldar you must still be able to 'see' something."

For a moment Câlavendë could have laughed. _Still so incredulous?_

"I sense but do not see, my lord. It is like," she searched for a word, "…seeing the outlines of the living. It takes focus and control to even see this and I rarely 'see' this way. I rely more upon my staff and edhel senses. They have sufficed."

Galadriel nodded thoughtfully. "You see the essence of life, interesting in one so young."

Her curiosity heightened. The cause of the elleth's blindness was shrouded in mystery and Lady of the Golden Wood extended her power to probe deep into the mind of Câlavendë to see why. Different from telepathing, which was non intrusive merely a projected thought or emotion, Galadriel entered Câlavend's mind and at once was enveloped in a dreadful oppressive darkness that seemed endless. Before she could delve deeper a shrill voice screamed in fear and pain, "NO! Get OUT." The Lady withdrew sharply, her eyes narrowing in shock.

Knowing something had passed between them, Celeborn looks to his disconcerted Lady and back to Câlavendë who is breathing heavily with the palms of her hand pressed against her eyes.

When Câlavendë eventually spoke, her voice was hoarse and pleading. "I beg you my lady, to _never_ do that again." Her head throbbed from what had felt like a glass sliver being driven into her skull then suddenly removed.

The piercing blue of Gladriel's eyes, filled with sympathy and regret. "Of course my child, you have my word."

[_What happened? You look as if Fëanor himself has risen before your eyes._]

[_Soon. I will tell you what happened soon, beloved. For now let her rest._]

"Câlavendë, you may leave us as we can see you are exhausted and have suffered through many hardships. Fear nothing whilst you are in my realm, as you are under my protection." The Lady rose and approached Câlavendë with a fluid grace, stooping to kiss the pained elleth upon her brow. "A guide will show you too your rooms and where to heal the Ocelot. Tell Haldir we wish to converse with him now. Rest well, dearest, we will speak again soon."

On weak legs, from either the surprising kind action or the affect of a piercing headache, even she couldn't tell, Câlavendë leaned heavily on her staff, bowing again the fashion of her people before concentrating on putting one foot in front of the towards the door. Before she passed though it, she turned back slightly.

"There is something else I beg to ask before I leave."

"Yes?" Galadriel responded knowingly, one eyebrow raised.

"I would ask a favour of you, my Lady."

With slight nod the lady assented. "It shall be granted if it is so in my power."

"I wish for no one else to know of my … condition, yet." The Lord and lady shared meaningful glances: this elleth was a mystery in need of solving.

"As you wish. Those who know shall not speak of it, by my command."

To Câlavend's mind, this lifted a great burden. She could remain ambiguous and free of scorn in the short time she remained within the Golden Wood, as long as nobody knew, and she would be long gone before they could find out. Leaving the chamber the gem within her staff glinted once and behind her she did not hear the sharp intake of breath.

[_Did you see?_]

[_I saw. Long has the river of time passed since we have seen the "re Hwesta Silme within Lothlorien. This is an interesting revelation indeed._]

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**NOTES:** _Finally!! I hope it is long enough, and mayhap the wait between chapters will not be so long!! If you do review, please keep in mind to keep all posts extra cheerful and I beg you to answer this simple question. Why did you choose to read Estelio Ammen? The name, the synopsis, the amount of reviews, someone recommended it to me etc. Be as honest as you can. Do you like it? Just wait till the twists, I promise you will never see them coming. REMEMBER to **add me to your **_**Author Alert**_, to be the first to read the next chapter hot off the press._ **IN NEXT**** CHAPTER:** "friends, enemies and healing an Ocelot in 25 ways."

**Thankyou too: Elenwe:** thankyou, I am very honoured to even be thought of as a favourite author. **Haldir's Heart and Soul:** love your name!! Keep reading. **Moonbunny:** thanx for the tip off (I am looking into it!) and I actually changed chap 4 (incl. Miss Suliell) and will repost so it's not so confusing!! Kellipson is nothing from Star Trek sorry! J ! **Lalita22:** you are so gorgeous you know that??!! **Yami Ray: **I hope your heandache is much better and you get muchr est and sleep, you deserve it! **nevvy:** the Ocelot is actually a real wild cat!! Why Cala is betrothed to "he", well ever heard 'love can make one blind', I feel just as sorry for her! Birds are gorgeous, I have a budgie named Pippin who follows me around my house! **Sarah:** reviews are good for the author!! Yes, by beta is absolutely wonderful!! **Kallastron:** well here was Galadriel's meeting with Cala…. just makes it all the more intriguing Galadriel not being able to read Cala's mind!! **Nienna Nir: **hullo!! J!! Your ex-fiance is like "him"? You will be surprised that there are others!! evil glare Haldir's attitude at this moment can not be helped… sometimes he is just a big git with to much ego!! **Andrea/Veasse:** I can guarantee I will finish this story!! **Leah:** there are 4 things that a writer (like myself) deem as the highest of compliments and you have hit two of them. (i.e. favourite list, and made into a movie)!! I am so ubelievably humbled and gives big hug - and YOU (in your own words) digacool!! **Chelleybelle:** great name! And thankyou. **Mel:** speechless is good! **Lady of Dragons: **you are wonderful!! Keep reading please. **Believe in the light: ** another wonderful name! blushes thankyou for your beautiful review, emotion is always good! **Emilia:** please do read again!! Grace to you! **Rennjenn:** I'm glad you like it! **Michelle:** an update jus for you, sorry about the wait!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter and my story. Your review was so sweet and humbled me. People like you are the ones who make writing this story so fantastic. **Mari and Proudly Unbeatiful: **I'm happy to know you're enjoying it!

**Copperstring: **I'm glad I could write to provoke such emotion from you, it is always wonderful for an author to know how their audience is reacting to their story!****


	6. Of Mysteries and Anger

**Author's Note: dodges flying fruit I know, I know!! I am a terrible, horrible authoress who has been incredibly negligent and I can only hope you will forgive me. Be prepared for many surprises, and keep your mind open for the unexpected and sometimes extraordinary happenings you may find in this imminent chapter. I love my reviewers, I LOVE, LOVE, LOVE MY REVIEWERS, who have been so gracious and I can only apologise from the bottom of my heart for the longest wait. Your patience is truly amazing.**

**P.S. My results came in and I am ecstatic with joy – they were fantastic!**

**Dedication: To everyone who reads this SIP and reviews, to all who read this at all and to everyone who gives hope that my writing is not all as terrible as I sometimes think it is.**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own, nor am I affiliated with any of the Lord of the Rings enterprises that are currently under copyright with Tolkien Enterprises and New Line Cinema and many characters/places/themes are taken for non-profit use only from J. R. R. Tolkien's masterpiece. Don't bother suing me for I have no money!

**I Suggest Re-READING Previous Chapter if You Have Not Read in A While**

Câlavendë had known physical pain, even endured soul tearing, but had never faced mind-auratic agony that felt as if a thousand hot needle points had been pressed into one, tiny area inside her head. It was understandable then that she suffered greatly as she made her way out of the majestic hall to wait for the guide who would take her to her guest chambers. She leant heavily against the handrail, breathing deeply through gritted teeth.

Câlavendë felt _his_ brooding presence behind her as a hostile force being expertly withheld and so it was, behind a cold mask of arrogance and disdain. Haldir's chin lifted defiantly and his stance, though tension filled, did not reveal the true anger that raged throughout his entire being. Oblivious to her evident discomfort and brooding over his skinned knuckles from the unforgiving mallorn bark, not to mention still fuming from his demotion, strode by her and was almost past when he stopped suddenly.

"Such a short introduction, _Lady Súliel_," he drew a long finger over the railing as though checking for dust, before brushing it carelessly from his fingers. "Though I cannot say I am entirely surprised." Suddenly his nonchalance changed as he whispered menacingly, "You will find no peace within our borders, _elleth._"

"Is that a threat?"

He examined his nails before replying, "Consider it, a warning … and a promise."

With Haldir's back towards her, Câlavendë had another uncharacteristic urge to push him down the nearest stairs, but she knew that would not relieve the ache in her head any less. Instead she gathered all the nobility she could muster and turned to face him.

"You, sir, are required in the presence of the Lord and Lady. I bid you a pleasant afternoon and ask you to pass on a fond farewell to your brother Master Rúmil. Good afternoon, _Warden_." She knew the now lesser title would pierce his arrogant armour and was rewarded with a low hiss as he continued on into the great hall.

One hand hesitantly rubbed her forehead and the other gently pulled her hood to shadow her face once more, as the Ocelot whimpered pitifully in the pouch at her abdomen, clearly in pain and distress.

"My Lady?" A quiet voice whispered close by her ear, making her jump and nearly raise her staff against him. The speaker back peddled with almost comical haste, hands aloft. "My deepest apologies for startling my lady, but I wish to show you to your lodgings, if my lady so wishes."

Though tall, the speaker was very softly spoken and almost willow like in form, as if the wind could break his thin body in two. Yet he was not ungainly, almost spritely with white hair and a strong ethereal glow.

"I do wish that, good sir," Câlavendë sighed, her heart warming to the gentle voice of her guide, "but first we must go to the healing quarters for I have a wounded Ocelot in need of attention."

His head nodded twice gravely. "Of course, my lady. Aurelius is at my lady's service. Please follow me."

In her pained state Câlavendë could not be bothered commenting on the overuse of 'my lady's', and rather murmured to herself, "Aurelius, a lovely name."

Upon hearing the remark, and being the shy _ellon_ that he was, Aurelius felt his ears grow pink with embarrassment and, unknown to her; she was endeared to him forever.

In the afternoon sun that splayed through the great shadows of the _mallyrns_, Caras Galadhon was a hive of graceful activity. The sunlight took on a tawny hue, bathing the walkways and talans in a golden brilliance and glinting off leaves that gently fell down from high above. The paths were smooth and stable, twisting and angling off to other unknown areas, sometimes they would come to what seemed to be the main thoroughfare, around the trunk of the great mallyrns and descend or ascend accordingly. Within a small amount of time Câlavendë could no longer remember whether she was retracing her steps or going around in ever widening circles.

Caras Galadhon was peaceful yet not in the sense that all was quiet, as the air was filled with the sweet music of voice and activity, but peaceful in way that meant sound was unobtrusive on the reflective mind. It could pass you by if you did not stop to listen. Horns sounded in the distance with various harmonies and they were not blown with force like those in war, used to put fire in your heart and fear in your enemy, but seemed to swell and fall, like a rolling wave. Small bells chimed in the passing wind creating a cascade of tiny notes and there were voices, voices spoken or in song, blending together in a joyous chorus.

As Câlavendë walked, elleth and ellon alike would stop to peer from high ways above or behind, from the opposite mallyrn to her left, to the path winding down beneath her. Their whispers were full of curiosity, but none seemed wanting enough to stop her and ask – _too proud, _she thought, _oh, I shall be so happy to leave here._ Passing through a wide flet between trees Aurelius paused and spoke quietly to a sentinel who blew three notes on a thin reed.

"A healer will come by and by, my lady, to take the Ocelot into their care."

Câlavendë felt slightly perplexed, she had always thought that a healer would come with her to her lodging, for she dearly did not want to abandon its awkward yet comforting presence so soon. She rubbed her forehead again, willing the ache to subside so she could think clearly and objectively.

"Master Aurelius, I would like, you see, I think that, under the circumstances, and since you have been so kind…" she stumbled and took another breath.

He looked at her quizzically, "Yes?"

Her response was forever stalled as Kellipson's claws pricked her stomach lightly, not enough to draw blood, but enough to achieve Câlavendë attention, albeit she was annoyed.

_I shall heal here._

This was all too much, Câlavendë held her head in both hands trying not to laugh hysterically, as the male, strong, haughty voice seemed to intensify her head pain to excruciating levels. Legend had it that of all the creatures with enough coherent thought and reason, other than ravens, the Ocelot was among the best. Edhel had communicated with them for centuries until their numbers dwindled and the Ocelot took to stealth and shadows. Vain and proud beyond immortal comprehension they could only be heard by those it chose. To speak with one was strictly the feline's initiative or so said the phrase, "Do not greet the Ocelot, for thou shalt receive none for thy efforts."

_I refuse to be carried in such an undignified manner any further. I shall be healed here or my tail will be crushed beyond repair. _His head appeared from a slit in the pouch. _And what may you be gawking at, boy? Terribly rude!_

Aurelius' eyes widened till they seemed as round as his open mouth.

"You're – you are an Ocelot?!"

St_ate the very obvious there! _He re plied with a dry tone. _What did you think I was, a foal? _

Aurelius had lost none of his awe. "And you talked to me, I mean, us?"

_Correct, an honour for both of you, be quite sure of it. _He wrinkled his nose and stared into Câlavendë's hand covered face, his tone was full of sarcasm, _Quick this one isn't he?! Do you surround yourself with such imbeciles commonly? It is most unseemly. Ah, Healer, good day._

Just as Aurelius had, the Healer coming up from the stairs behind them was also privy to the unusual comments. To their great surprise he bowed.

"Welcome Lady Súliel," there was a snort of indignation from Câlavendë's pouch, "and, and also welcome Master …?"

_The very wise, and very handsome Kellipson esquire. _He remarked with overzealous pride. _Now if you will, Câlavendë Súliel?_

She sighed in resignation, but a smile still played about her lips, and unstrung the makeshift sling from her shoulder, carrying the eccentric cat to the healer, who took it from her gently.

He directed his parting words solely at Câlavendë. _I shall go now,_ he sniffed haughtily,_ your odour does smell so. We shall meet again soon enough._

Câlavendë's good humour disappeared as anger took hold. The Healer's voice came up from the stairs, as the cat had one last jibe to throw at Câlavendë who was well and truly bristling with offence and resentment from the last.

"You had best get some rest, lady, as Master Kellipson says you are quite exhausted."

_Of all the ungrateful wretches…_she stamped her foot, something which she only did when truly vexed, to relieve her frustration and the motion made her head spin with wheels of broken glass slashing through it._ Now I have a smart talking feline to contend with, ah, insufferable!_ _I swear I shall be glad to see the back of Lorien._

When Aurelius had recovered enough, though an inane smile still played over his face, he guided Câlavendë from the flet leaving a very disturbed sentry in their wake. He had watched their proceedings as one watched slightly unhinged people talking to imaginary friends. To his ears, the Ocelot had not spoken a word.

After inquiring whether she desired any other assistance, Aurelius left Câlavendë to explore her chambers alone. Her talan was quite regal, as one would expect being a guest of Lothlorien, with three rooms: a bed chamber, bathing room adjoining the latter, and the last doubled as both food preparation and leisure area. She reached for and hesitantly found the hook to hang her mud stained cloak by the door, tenderly touching the material's worn and ragged surface, before readying herself for the arduous task of accustoming herself to her surroundings. The wost was that this was something her "sight" could not help her with.

Her "sight" was able to see only the living, the _essences_ that run through life, yet furniture and cloth lost its life force when it was crafted, so it just appeared empty in her mind. This meant that she would have to use touch and memory to make a detailed mind map of the talan's layout.

The first task was to locate all the main objects and Câlavendë used her staff to gently scan each room. In the bedroom, besides her lavish bed, she found a bureau and closet, even a writing desk beside an open balcony. She then ran her fingertips over the object and measured it with her hands where things were situated upon or in them. In this way she found the small ink well and quill with a roll of parchment on the writing desk. Felt the embroidered and beautiful quilt upon her wide and beautifully woodworked bed and found the levers for pumping the water into the bathing tub. Of course it was sometimes a hazardous discovery as she cut her finger on sharp knives with the cutlery, burned her hand discovering which lever and tap corresponded to hot and cold water, and bumped her head on the ceiling of low cupboards.

The last of her self-proclaimed tasks was to continuously walk through her chambers till she could unconsciously move to each object and place unerringly, without her staff. As helpful as the staff was 'seeing' outdoors, it impeded her incredibly in small places. Aloud she murmured what was to be found in each place.

"Two bowls, two dishes, kindling, left to right in low cupboard one. Four steps right, circular table with two stools. Ahh, let me remember, six steps to chaise with four pillows." A wry smile played upon her lips as a gentle breeze wafted the delicate cloths hanging from the open doorways and windows, across her face like a soft caress. "I gather it is next to a window."

Her mental inventory seemed to dull the pain within her head, but her exhaustion worsened. Stubbing her toe for the second time in a matter of moments, she finally gave up to retire for what was left of the afternoon. Drawing the hanging cloths closed and letting fall the heavier material of her talan's entrance she hesitantly stood next to her bed. _Tomorrow_ _I have a vexed march warden, a whole city to navigate around and concealment of my apparent sightlessness to contend with,_ and the thought weighed upon her shoulders, creasing her brow with concern.

Undoing her belt and pouch from her waist, Câlavendë laid them carefully on the bureau to be reorganised tomorrow. She slipped the concealed dagger beneath her pillow out of habit and laid her staff on the other side of her mattress. The laces on her boots seemed strangely hard to untie and the weight of her faded linen overdress was a burden difficult to remove. Still, she folded each item and placed them on the chest at the foot of the bed. Clad only in her thin chemise and worn stockings she fell, literally, onto the soft quilts. Disgusted with herself that she had not even eaten or bathed, murmuring that the comments the Ocelot had made were probably right, she drew the covers over her form.

"Tomorrow, I will tomorrow … but now…," she was lulled into sleep by the gentle music of Caras Galadhon, whilst another could find no rest that night.

He felt cheated, no, humiliated, disgusted, ashamed, vengeful and most of all furious and the path of his unrelenting stride was wearing thin the mat in his quarters.

"Demoted? Brother I hate to be incredulous, but me? That vermin I wish I could cut out of Lothlorien like you would a thorn from your side." Haldir turned towards the languid figure sitting beside the table with a flute of wine beside him and his eyes glinted dangerously. "Ah, she is more than a thorn, she is an arrow, barbed and cunning, shows airs of innocence and fragility when she is really a conniving little– , she gives no credit to our kind, she is a blight and sickness, a vile, scheming elleth and I would sooner be set upon by a thousand orcs than endure _her presence_ within _my_ realm."

Rúmil reached for the flagon and poured his angered brother another wine.

"First of all, sit yourself down and stop acting immature, that is my job and I frankly do it better, and secondly this realm belongs to the Lord and Lady. It is not yours and I do believe that they were the ones to demote you, not Lady Súliel. You may fume all you want now, when the wine has flowed a little too much, but you should be rather looking to remedy the situation rather than adding to further misery and anguish."

He looked pointedly at Haldir who was still standing taught and defiant in front of him. They had spent the better half of the evening in Haldir's glorious talan, drinking copious amounts of liquor and Haldir generally cursing the ground Câlavendë walked on.

"I suspect you are right."

"Quite naturally."

Haldir took a deep breath and seemed to freeze over for a moment, before relaxing and reclining into the nearest available chair.

"Since when did you become wise?" He tiredly rubbed his forehead and spun the ruby liquid within its crystal chalice, eyes lifeless grey orbs.

Rúmil smiled innocently, "I have always been wise, but I also think drinking two large flagons may also have something to do with my recent philosophical state."

"Oh, really? Only two? You have still a way to go before you are spouting sonnets about your female beaus, which I might say are chosen with impeccably bad taste."

"You should talk, the great wall of ice you are, tonight was the first night I have actually seen emotion from you in at least six seasons. I think I shall bring the lady many Nimrodel just for that."

Haldir's face turned to stone and his voice warned with a sharp coldness, "She may have wished you a _fond _farewell but you will have nothing to do with her. She will not last long here, the truth shall be outed and I will return to my former and rightful place."

Rúmil turned his now empty glass through his fingers. "Well, we are entrusted to not to speak of her … affliction– "

"Who said it will be us that let slip the secret? A few rumours, many unanswered questions, soon the heat of the crucible will get too hot and she will either burn or fly."

Rúmil shook his head, "You are increasingly morbid, Haldir, you should get out more. Perhaps, you know, laugh sometimes, like normal edhel."

Haldir sank lower in his chair closing his eyes, "What, and become like you? Addicted to seeing the good, the light, the most wholesome in unsavoury characters, it's a wonder you are still alive!"

"I did not come here to trade insults," Rúmil sighed heavily, "but I wanted to tell you that you have acted with absolutely no forethought whatsoever these past days. I was explaining on the Flet of Amroth the reason why we had taken her so forcefully was because of our love of this city," his eyes gazed out longingly to the beautiful blue grey vista of a Lothlorien twilight, "and you ruined the understanding by relating that love to perfection. A gross mistake, brother, the second of two you have made. One of law, the other principle. If I were you I would be concentrating more on winning back your title of March Warden rather than making me endure your tumult of pride and arrogance!" Rúmil's eyes had turned to steel and he felt he wanted to shake his brother whose mind seemed to work on a warrior's time only.

"Well done, brother, well done." Haldir clapped lightly, mocking Rúmil's emotional outburst. "I am truly touched," his tone changed dramatically. "Arrogant you say? Arrogance born of hundreds of years of men, which I have suffered and you have not. Arrogance born of knowing, seeing, risking life and cheating the mortals gift of passing." His voice raised, "Pride! Pride through servitude, through honour and craftsmanship. Pride of realm, of home, of hearth," suddenly his furore dropped to a forced whisper, " and – of – family! Now, tell me again of my mistakes and character. I am _twice_ the edhel you will _ever_ be."

Rúmil stood rapidly, rage tuning his normally passive features into ice hostility. Unexpectedly he threw his glass at the wall with such force it shattered into a thousand splinters of light, before walking stiffly towards his cloak upon the wall, boots crunching the shards underfoot. He viciously wrapped the cape about his form, before glancing back at his misguided sibling. "And I am thrice blessed because of it, _brother_!"

He melted into the night, with Haldir staring vacantly at the many glittering remnants lying brokenly on the floor. They seemed to be the ruins of his world brought down by one elleth, and as he ran a careworn hand through platinum hair, he began to list the many trials he would face to prove himself as March Warden and brother again. And he was not alone in his turmoil that night.

A slight breeze entered a room full of bound manuscripts, lifting the many papers that had recently been strewn across the ornate tables and floor. Celeborn had gone through many historical bardic tales, been sidetracked momentarily by a lost tome on ancient hymns, and was reaching for the last pile of parchments. His search had so far been in vain.

"Óre, Óre … hrmm, I remember. I know I remember that stone, but where …" his eyes scanned over the words in front of him by the light of a candelabra and he ignored the feeling of doubt that what he needed to know could not be found among the great store of knowledge he had accumulated within this chamber.

"Thou art stubborn and curious, dearest."

His mind still upon the words he had read, it took a moment before he realised his wife was standing in the doorway, a tired smile upon her beautiful face.

"Why I thank thee, but I fear this search will bear no fruit and I shall not be pleased."

She laughed softly and came forward to cup his face tenderly.

"Do you really long to know?"

Celeborn raised his eyebrows, "What are you suggesting?"

She smiled mysteriously, blue eyes suddenly sad, "I remember Celeborn, the stone. Remember its … history, and quite honestly I am astounded that you have forgotten. But tell me, do you really desire to know?"

He hesitated, as there was a subtle warning in her voice, before replying. "I do."

"As you wish, dearest."

She lead him over to the chaise and they both relaxed upon it, with her head resting upon his shoulder. His long fingers combed through her golden hair as he waited for Galadriel to begin.

"Óre Hwesta Silme, the Heart of the Vine, sister to the Arkenstone sacred to the dwarves and created by Aulë, was not formed by any hand of mortal or Eldar, but by Varda– Queen of Stars, the greatest Lady. As she gazed upon the world of Illuvatar's crafting, she saw the Vine, her most prized creation, flowering by the seashore. It's bright petals illuminated the water and within the light she saw the faces of the Firstborn on many ships sailing to Valinor. She begged Ulmo, Lord of Waters, to cup in his great hands the water that reflected the light of the Vine to keep with her when the Vine was not in bloom. He assented and created an orb of the ocean that was filled with the glorious soft light of the Vine, twinkling like starlight on water. When Varda was given the orb, she began to fashion it into a small faceted gem in the shape of a petal, about the size of her palm. She borrowed delicate tools from Aulë and spent many long hours lovingly crafting her stone. When she had finished, Aulë gave her a mithril clasp that would gently hold the stone about her neck and she wore the jewel for days unnumbered.

There came a windswept morning when a young elleth, a favourite of Varda's, afraid of the great shadow of Melkor even though he was chained and bound within the undying realm, could not be pacified. Seeing her distress, Varda relinquished her most loved possession to calm the child to immediate and great effect.

Soon after the Silmarills were lost, the light of the trees quenched and the Eldar left Valinor. The elleth, remembering the gracious gift from Varda, offered to return it back to its rightful keeper, but Varda smiled and said, 'Keep it; it was a gift and I will always see the blooms of the Vine from Valinor. May the Óre Hwesta Silme always turn back the darkness as there is much light to be bestowed upon the world you journey to.'

The elleth kept the stone with her and it gave great comfort for many, many ages until someone beloved to her was leaving for the Undying West with his betrothed. She gave him the stone to return to Varda, but ill fated was her choice. The elven ship in haven grey beneath the mountain lee, left the fading shore low beyond the swell and Amroth was unwittingly parted from his love Nimrodel. From the grey ship they saw him leap, and dive into the ocean, but he was never seen again and the Óre Hwesta Silme he had bound about his brow was lost.

A century of men had passed, when a young lord of Silvan and Númenórean descent, had found his way to the same shore where the ships once were taking the Eldar to Valinor, but none now waited within the small harbour. He walked the white sand of the beach and as he looked into the surf, searching for the ship that he had been aboard before a great storm had grounded it against a rocky shoal, a light glinted within the waters. Curious, he strode into the surf and reaching down, grasped a large pearl about the size of his fist and perfectly circular. Astounded by its beauty he did not notice the water's receding about him, nor the sun darkening as if behind large clouds. It was only when the voice of a thousand waves crashing onto rocks spoke that he beheld the Lord of Waters in his full splendour.

Standing high above him with a triton in one hand, his beard and hair seeming to be made of running water and seaweed, his clothing of waves, rain and shells; Ulmo was a terrifying sight to behold.

'You have in your hand something of great worth to me and I wish for us to trade. If you refuse, you will find your home among the fish of the deep waters.'

The man knew that it would be his death to refuse, yet he also wished not to trade especially with the Lord of Waters, after all he was trespassing in his realm as soon as he had stepped foot in the ocean. He bowed deeply to Ulmo and called up to him,

'With great thanks do I acknowledge your offer of trade, but I wish to give you this pearl and I expect no repayment, for the loss is not great.'

Ulmo seemed surprised, but took the pearl from him and placed it within the missing place in the crown upon his head. Then he waved his hand and an old wreck appeared still dripping from the waters, which it had rose from. Ulmo silently gestured for the man to climb aboard and a great tide took him out to see and a long way down the coast, till he came to another safe bay where he was again made to go ashore.

Ulmo was not a giving lord, but was pleased with this man and saw fit to reward him for his honourable deed. 'For your benevolence I wish to grant you this gift.' The Óre Hwesta Silme in all its glittering splendour was gently placed within the hands of the young lord. 'This, the Óre Hwesta Silme has the luminous of the flower of the Vine that grows in all its glory along this bay. It was lost with Amroth, and made by Varda and for only a short while have I had it in my keeping. It is blessed to keep away the darkness and I bless it also, to in the hands of the righteous and the royal of this realm no evil shall endure.'

So the man, Galador, son of Imräzor the Númenórean and Mithrellas a silvan elf, sent messages on the wind that he was building a great city, a Princedom on the coast, for southern protection and governance of what is now Gondor. He began to build the citadel of Dol Amroth, the name in honour of the edhel whose gift he now possessed and was the first Prince of that fair household. The Óre Hwesta Silme was handed down each generation, until its origin was lost in myth, and it was but a great heirloom of the royal line."

Galadriel fell silent and Celeborn kissed his beloved's concerned forehead with a tenderness born of great love.

"I remember, now. You always blamed yourself for Amroth's death, though I do not see how giving him the stone could have altered the ultimate ending of his great life. Love changes many things."

Galadriel sighed, "The stone should have gone back to The Lady, who had bestown it upon me as a child, but it seems its work was not yet finished here in Arda. How it has come to be in the hands of an elleth not of royal blood is a mystery. One of many Câlavendë seems to hide from us."

He took her hand within his own and caressed it softly.

"All shall be revealed, I am sure."

She turned her troubled blue gaze upon his beloved countenance and she traced its contours gently, whispering, "But I can not see it, her mind is dark to me."

"Then we must wait for her to speak to us."

Galadriel sighed softly resting her head against his chest. "Then I fear we will be waiting far longer than we imagine."

Note: Yes a couple of sentences of this story were taken from the Lay of Nimrodel written by JRR Tolkein, and I hope you are considerably intrigued for the next instalment. It will be a grand feast, the weavings of a lie, and the failings of a warden … who is not Haldir!! Hopefully you shall not have to wait so long!! A Very Merry (and Pippin!! J) Christmas and New Year to All. 


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